•REMONT  ST.& 


CASA    GRANDE 


A    CALIFORNIA    PASTORAL 


BY 


CHARLES    DUFF    STUART 
'I 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1906 


Copyright,  1906 


HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  September,  1906 


P53537 


t(  LET    US     GO     FORTH     INTO     THE     FIELD. 


TO 

MY   GOOD   FRIEND 
W.  C.  MORROW 


"  LET    ME   HEAR    THY    VOICE." 

— Solomon's  Song. 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  headings  from  Solomon's  Song. 

CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.    WHERE  THOU  FEEDEST  THY  FLOCK i 

II.    BEHOLD  HE  COMETH 19 

III.  MY  SOUL  HAD  FAILED  ME 40 

IV.  Go  THY  WAY  FORTH 57 

V.    AMONG  THORNS 73 

VI.    A  CUNNING  WORKMAN 86 

VII.    THE  RAIN  Is  OVER 96 

VIII.     BUT  HE  GAVE  ME  No  ANSWER 112 

IX.    I  RAISED  THEE  UP 130 

X.    BY  THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  THE  FLOCK 143 

XL    UNTIL  THE  SHADOWS  FLEE  AWAY 154 

XII.    A  VERY  FLAME  OF  THE  LORD 167 

XIII.  WHAT  SHALL  WE  Do  FOR  OUR  SISTER? 180 

XIV.  I  WAS  ASLEEP,  BUT  MY  HEART  WAKED 192 

XV.    OR  EVER  I  WAS  AWARE 203 

XVI.    As  ONE  THAT  FOUND  PEACE 217 

XVII.     STAY  YE  ME 229 

XVHL    TURN  AWAY  THINE  EYES 239 

XIX.    THAT  THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME 250 

XX.    A  WELL  OF  LIVING  WATERS 275 

XXL    WHAT  Is  THY  BELOVED? 286 

XXII.    AND  NONE  WOULD  DESPISE  ME 298 

XXIII.  IF  A  MAN  WOULD  GIVE  ALL  FOR  LOVE 316 

XXIV.  TELL  ME 333 

XXV.    THAT  THOU  WERT  AS  MY  BROTHER 345 

XXVI.    WHEN  I  SHOULD  FIND  THEE 355 


CASA  GRANDE 

CHAPTER  I 
WHERE  THOU  FEEDEST  THY   FLOCK 

A  FITFUL  blaze  from  glowing  logs  moved  shad 
ows  in  the  spacious  living-room  of  the  old 
house.  Through  the  drowsy  night-gloom  lime- 
washed  adobe  walls  showed  clean  and  distant,  their 
massiveness  draped  by  vaqueros'  trappings,  with 
here  and  there  quaint  relics  of  former  soldier  occu 
pants. 

Casa  Grande,  sturdy  and  red-tiled,  had  been  a 
fort  when  Rancho  Aguas  Frias,  in  Sonoma  County, 
was  the  northernmost  Mexican  outpost  of  Califor 
nia.  Now,  some  ten  years  later,  it  was  the  dwelling 
of  John  Miller,  who  had  converted  the  abandoned 
outpost  into  a  prosperous  cattle  range.  \ 

The  master  and  the  sheriff  sat  at  a  rough  table 


'**  ':  :..:/•*:•.;  CASA  GRANDE 
covered  by  a  blanket,  the  map  spread  before  them 
lighted  by  the  halo-like  gleam  of  a  tallow  candle. 

After  a  short  pause,  Miller  said,  positively,  "Two 
thousand  acres  are  too  much  to  give  up." 

"You're  not  exactly  giving  them  up,"  contended 
Sam  Bailey.  "The  squatters  '11  pay  you."  His  tone 
was  conciliatory. 

"I  don't  want  their  money;  I  want  the  land." 
Miller  pointed  to  the  map,  and  added :  "See  here — 
Aguas  Frias,  seventy-five  hundred  acres.  Two  thou 
sand  off  leaves  fifty-five  hundred.  That's  no  ranch 
in  this  county!"  He  moved  the  candle,  and,  still 
examining  the  map,  continued :  "Here's  Rancho 
Petaluma — what  does,  it  read? — twenty  thousand 
acres.  El  Coyote,  eighteen  thousand."  He  sat  back 
and  said,  deliberately :  "The  Sotoyome,  near  Healds- 
burg,  must  have  forty  thousand.  The  Riata — it 
takes  in  the  upper  end  of  Napa  Valley — thirty  thou 
sand.  So  it  goes  all  round  the  bay.  My  land  is  lit 
tle  more  than  a  garden-patch  compared  with  those 
big  grants.  How  can  I  compete  as  a  cattle  breeder?" 

Both  men  were  approaching  middle  age,  and  both 
were  clad  roughly,  but  with  a  certain  frontier  mo- 


THOU  FEEDEST  THY  FLOCK  3 

dishness.  They  wore  neither  coat  nor  waistcoat,  and 
strength  and  resolution  were  expressed  by  well- 
knitted  figures,  as  well  as  in  face  and  in  bearing. 
The  manhood  of  one  was  fine  and  developed ;  of  the 
other,  rough  and  primitive.  They  sat  a  long  time 
in  perplexed  study  of  the  problem  confronting  them. 

"I'd  rather  have  the  land,"  said  Miller,  pushing 
aside  the  map.  "I'd  rather  have  the  land  than  twice 
what  they'll  pay  for  it.  What  will  they  give?" 

Bailey  moved  uneasily.  "I  don't  know.  The 
Government  price  is  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  an  acre." 

"Oh,  yes.  A  dollar  and  a  quarter.  Think  I'm 
the  Government  ?  The  land  cost  me  twice  that !" 

Bailey  looked  up  questioningly.  He  said  he  had 
heard  that  the  grant  of  seven,  thousand  five  hundred 
acres  cost  ten  thousand  dollars. 

Miller  smiled  indulgently.  "That's  what  I  paid 
for  it;  just  half  the  cost.  Add  lawyers'  fees,  court 
fees,  surveying — wait  till  you  perfect  title  to  a  Mexi 
can  grant.  You'll  see  where  the  money  goes !" 

"That's  all  right,"  Bailey  declared,  waving  aside 
further  objections.  "You'll  get  your  price,  whatever 


4  CASA  GRANDE 

"No,"  said  Miller,  rising  and  pacing  the  floor; 
"I'll  take  no  chances.  I'll  not  sell." 

The  sheriff  leaned  against  the  table  and  sighed. 
"You're  very  positive,"  he  said,  at  last,  "but  I  know 
the  squatters,  their  tempers,  their  opinions ;  you 
don't.  I'd  like  to  help  them  and  keep  you  out  of 
trouble." 

"Aren't  you  borrowing  trouble  on  my  account, 
Sam?" 

"Every  one  lends  trouble  to  the  sheriff;  he's  like 
a  policeman,  you  know."  Bailey  smiled  rather  dis 
mally.  "But  when  a  fellow  has  had  to  preserve  the 
peace  and  dignity  of  the  county  through  three  or 
four  of  these  squatter  wars — well,  he  has  seen  the 
seamy  side  of  that  kind  of  fighting." 

Miller  said  that  the  sheriff  was  still  harping  on 
the  row  he  got  into  last  year — the  time  the  squatters 
came  near  running  old  Caldwell  off  the  Sotoyome 
grant. 

Bailey  went  over  to  the  fireplace,  where  the  dogs, 
lean  and  enduring,  stretched  indolently  about  the 
comfortable  hearth — three  or  four  foxhounds  and 
as  many  mongrels,  in  which  the  blood  of  foxhound 


THOU  FEEDEST  THY  FLOCK  5 

and  shepherd  predominated.  They  half-sleepily, 
half-sulkily  made  room  for  him,  as  if  they  had 
earned  the  right  to  undisturbed  possession  of  the 
fire  by  the  countless  miles  travelled  daily  in  following 
the  vaqueros,  or  chasing  the  wild  things  that  defied 
their  vigilance — coyotes,  foxes,  wildcats,  'coons, 
skunks  and  squirrels.  The  intruder  regarded  the 
sprawling  pack  with  amusement,  and  then  said  to 
Miller: 

"Suppose  I  am  harping  on  the  Sotoyome.  You 
can't  fight  the  way.  Caldwell  does !  That  old  terrier 
has  killed  three  of  his  squatters,  been  twice  shot  by 
them,  burned  out,  I  don't  know  how  many  times, 
and  who  knows  how  many  of  his  cattle  have  been 
killed  or  stolen?" 

The  dogs  moved  uneasily ;  the  guest  was  talking 
very  loud. 

"I'd  feel  proud  of  you,  John,"  banteringly  con 
tinued  the  speaker,  "if  you  start  to  raise  hell,  the 
way  old  Caldwell  has  been  doing."  He  laughed 
quietly  at  his  silent  host. 

"The  squatters  '11  raise  hell  if  I  don't,"  retorted 
Miller.  "I've  been  two  years  their  neighbor,"  he 


6  CASA  GRANDE 

continued,  ignoring  Bailey's  mute  protest.  "I  know 
something  of  their  ways." 

Bailey  asked  why  the  enemy  couldn't  be  fenced 
off,  now  that  the  boundaries  had  been  fixed. 

"I  might  wall  them  off,"  admitted  the  master  of 
Casa  Grande,  derisively.  "They've  thrown  down 
my  fences  to  suit  themselves." 

Bailey  watched  the  rancher,  still  pacing  the  floor 
in  the  same  perplexity,  sure  that  his  host's  good 
impulses  would  prevail.  "They'll  make  you  mad 
many  times — I  know  that.  But  better  have  patience 
than  fight.  You  wouldn't  leave — sell  out?" 

"No,"  decidedly  answered  Miller.  "This  place 
suits  me  better  than  anything  I  have  seen.  Here  I 
stay.  I  say  that  I'll  have  to  fight,  anyway,  whether 
I  sell  them  the  land  they  claim,  or  whether  I  put 
them  off." 

"How  did  you  get  in  such  a  mess?"  asked  Bailey, 
going  back  to  the  table. 

Miller  joined  his  guest,  and  leaned  over  the  map 
as  if  seeking  the  reason  in  the  diagram.  "It  was 
a  case  of  poor  lawyer,  to  begin  with.  Then  there 
was  too  much  wealth  against  me.  The  Calabezas 


THOU  FEEDEST  THY  FLOCK  7 

people  here" — he  pointed  to  the  tract  of  land  on  the 
map;  lying  to  the  west  of  Aguas  Frias — "wanted  the 
water  in  the  Calabezas  Creek,  so  their  lines  were 
fixed  by  the  Commissioners  of  the  Land  Office  far 
enough  east  to  take  in  what  the  owners  wanted. 
That  forced  my  east  line  across  Dry  Creek.  We 
both  are  Mexican  grants,  but  they  got  their  claim 
confirmed  before  we  got  ours."  He  dejectedly  stared 
through  the  uncurtained  western  windows,  where 
stars  twinkled  indifferently. 

"You  own  a  good  ranch,  even  as  it  is,"  said 
Bailey,  approvingly.  "And,  what's  better,  you're 
going  to  give  the  squatters  a  show  to  buy  title  to 
their  claims."  He  laid  a  hand  on  Miller's  shoulder, 
in  passing,  and  went  over  to  where  Manuel,  the  old 
Mexican  cook,  trim  and  soldierly,  was  mixing  bread. 

Miller  regarded  his  guest  with  a  shade  of  resent 
ment,  and  called  to  him  to  know  why  he  was  inter 
ested  in  this  land  controversy,  anyway. 

Bailey  answered  the  question  confidently.  These 
were  his  people.  He  had  grown  up  among  them. 
And  he  liked  Miller,  too,  whom  he  wanted  to  keep 
out  of  trouble. 


8  CASA  GRANDE 

"Thank  you,  Bailey,"  responded  the  host.  "I  ap 
preciate  your  intentions,  but  from  now  on  you  and 
the  court  must  take  care  of  the  squatters." 

"I  can  only  do  my  duty,"  said  the  sheriff,  with  a 
note  of  disappointment.  "They'll  know  that  you 
are  making  the  fight,  however;  won't  they, 
Manuel?" 

The  cook  looked  up  quizzically.  Lines  that  scarred 
the  grizzled  countenance  were  softened  and  the  sen 
sitive  play  of  thin  lips  partly  obscured  by  the  light 
of  a  candle  beside  him.  "Meestah  Jone  dam'  good 
fighter,"  he  answered. 

"But  not  this  kind  of  a  fight,"  protested  Bailey. 

"You  theenk  es-squatter  fellah  like  Indian?  es- 
shoot  in  back?" 

"Of  course !  You  and  I  know  that ;  but  Miller — 
he's  a  newcomer,  eh  ?" 

The  old  man  stood  meditating,  while  he  wiped  the 
flour  from  his  hands  and  bare  arms.  "Me  theenk 
es-sell  land,  Meestah  Jone.  Es-squatter  fight  like 
coyote.  All  time  es-stand  behind  rock,  behind  tree. 
Burn  grass,  burn  es-stable;  keel  cattle." 

"Yes,  yes,"  Miller  impatiently  exclaimed.  -  "I've 


THOU  FEEDEST  THY  FLOCK  9 

heard  this  before.  What's  the  good  of  courts,  of 
sheriffs,  if  we  must  take  the  law  into  our  own 
hands?" 

"You  fight  reech  man  with  lawyer,"  was  the  sage 
reply.  "You  fight  es-squatter  with  rifle.  Es-sheriff 
no  can  find  heem.  Es-squatter  like  Indian.  Long 
time  ago  me  fight  Indian,  pero  me  Indian  then.  Me 
walk  like  Indian,  eat  like  Indian,  sleep  like  Indian, 
keel  like  heem.  You  no  es-squatter,  Meestah  Jone." 

"No,"  said  Miller,  stubbornly,  "I'll  not  sell.  If 
they  are  your  people,"  he  continued,  addressing 
Bailey,  "do  a  little  missionary  work.  Teach  them 
that  times  have  changed.  There  are  courts  and 
prisons  now." 

Bailey  laughed  noisily.  "Missionary  work !  The 
Bible  always  has  followed  the  trail  of  the  rifle, 
Miller.  If  you  stick  to  your  purpose,  my  missionary 
work  '11  be  grave-digging." 

"Cheer  up,  old  man,"  said  Miller,  lightly.  "You've 
pleaded  gallantly  for  your  people.  You'd  make  a 
good  lawyer."  The  speaker  keenly  studied  his  guest. 
"Which  one  of  these  families  are  you  most  inter 
ested  in?"  he  abruptly  asked,  still  convinced  that 


io  CASA  GRANDE 

Bailey  had  some  ulterior  motive  in  championing  the 
cause  of  the  squatters. 

"All  of  them,"  was  the  indifferent  reply. 

The  host  had  struck  the  trail  of  a  fresh  sugges 
tion,  and  proposed  to  follow  it.  His  eyes  twinkled 
as  he  continued :  "Perhaps  it's  that  family  with  six 
lanky  sons.  Looking  for  votes?" 

"Yes,"  cheerily  answered  the  sheriff.  "I  have  my 
eyes  on  them.  Seven  votes  in  one  family,  you 
know."  His  tone  was  still  indifferent. 

Miller  rose  from  the  table  and  backed  up  to  the 
fireplace.  He  had  found  his  clue  at  last,  and  he 
wondered  that  it  had  not  sooner  occurred  to  him. 

"Is  it  the  widow,  or  the  girl?"  He  asked  the 
question  politely,  to  avoid  any  suspicion  of  imperti 
nence. 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  driving  at,"  replied 
Bailey,  awkwardly. 

Miller  and  Manuel  laughed,  making  a  pleased, 
indulgent  sound  urging  Bailey  to  further  protesta 
tions.  "If  you  refer  to  the  Clarks,"  he  said,  "I 
know  them  and  like  them.  All  the  squatters  are  my 
friends." 


THOU  FEEDEST  THY  FLOCK  it 

Miller  was  considering  how  much  farther  he 
could  interrogate  his  guest.  He  felt  a  curiosity  to 
know  more  of  this  squatter  family,  who  appeared 
superior  to  their  neighbours.  He  was  sure  Bailey 
would  reply  lightly  if  he  felt  lightly,  so  the  guest 
was  reminded  that  he  had  not  yet  answered  whether 
it  were  the  mother  or  the  daughter. 

Bailey  had  been  watching  Manuel  shaping  dough 
into  loaves  ready  for  the  baking-pan.  He  straight 
ened  up  with  a. gesture  of  irritation,  and  exclaimed : 
"You  don't  credit  me  with  much  taste !" 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Miller.  "I've  never  seen  the 
widow." 

"She's  a  good  woman,"  Bailey  explained.  "A 
little  sad,  perhaps.  You've  seen  the  girl?" 

Miller  responded  with  a  drawl  that  he  had  seen 
her,  emphasising  "seen." 

Bailey  regarded  his  host  critically,  and  asked,  with 
some  warmth,  if  there  were  anything  against  Belle. 

"On  the  contrary,"  affably  replied  Miller,  "it's 
against  me.  She  never  has  spoken  to  me — not  even 
to  answer  my  good-mornings." 

"She's  a  girl  in  a  hundred,"  declared  Bailey,  en- 


12  CASA  GRANDE 

thusiastically.  "She  can  ride,  she  can  shoot,  she  can 
cook.  Have  you  noticed  how  she  dresses  ?  Does  it 
herself.  And  the  house,  chickens,  flowers — all 
hers/*  He  waved  his  arm  with  a  sweeping  gesture. 

"Yeh,"  chimed  in  Manuel.  "La  sefiorita  ees — 
ees — muy  bonita." 

"You  still  preserve  a  youthful  eye,"  placidly  ob 
served  Miller,  addressing  the  cook,  who  was  laying 
covers,  ready  for  early  breakfast,  on  a  long  red 
wood  table,  polished  and  darkened  by  much 
scrubbing,  benches  of  the  same  material  on  either 
side  of  it. 

"Yeh,"  admitted  the  cook,  in  pleased  simplicity. 
"He  es-say,  'Manuel,  give  me  Castilian  rose;  me 
plant  'em.'  " 

Miller  at  once  wanted  to  know  where  she  had 
made  the  request. 

"Ober  een  garden,"  Manuel  replied,  indicating  the 
direction  with  a  jerk  of  his  head. 

"You  old  sinner!"  exclaimed  Miller.  "She  in 
vades  my  domain  through  the  kitchen,  does  she,  as 
if  I  never  existed?  I  like  that!"  He  slapped  his 
knees  in  enjoyment  and  laughed. 


THOU  FEEDEST  THY  FLOCK  13 

Bailey  spoke  up  resentfully  and  denied  that  she 
was  a  sneak. 

"Beg  pardon,  old  man/'  said  Miller,  quickly.  "I 
didn't  intend  to  convey  that  idea." 

"She's  as  true  as  steel,"  explained  her  champion, 
anxious  to  justify  the  girl.  "She's  got  pluck  and 
sand.  Afraid  of  nothing.  A  friend  through  thick 
and  thin !" 

"I  understand,"  said  Miller,  genially,  nodding  his 
head.  "A  girl  who  can  love  truly." 

"She  might  be,"  sighed  Bailey.  "I  haven't  got  so 
far.  It  isn't  my  fault."  He  was  still  a  child,  clamour 
ing  for  sympathy. 

"Come,"  said  Miller,  walking  to  the  table,  "tell 
me  about  them.  Who  and  what  are  they  ?" 

Bailey  followed  his  host,  and  moved  awkwardly, 
but  not  reluctantly.  "They  came  in  here,"  he  ex 
plained,  tilting  back  his  chair,  "about  eight  years 
ago.  Their  father  was  alive  then — old  Pat  Clark." 

"Irish?"  asked  Miller. 

"Not  necessarily,"  replied  Bailey.  "His  name  was 
Patrick  Henry — born  in  the  South,  somewhere.  Pat 
was  a  rustler — red-headed,  lean,  quick  as  a  wildcat. 


14  CASA  GRANDE 

He  didn't  know  what  fear  meant  He  was  trim- 
built;  used  to  dress  like  a  trapper — always  well- 
dressed.  Belle  takes  after  him."  The  sheriff 
paused.  His  fancy  was  calling  to  life  the  girl  in  her 
half-Indian  costume. 

"I  believe  it  was  Diana  who  used  to  hunt,"  re 
marked  Miller,  absently,  thinking  of  the  same  char 
acteristic  in  her  dress. 

Bailey  stared  with  an  uncomprehending  glance, 
and  went  on :  "The  old  man  built  the  house  and  got 
things  well  started — fences,  tools,  stock,  orchard. 
We  found  him,  one  morning,  beside  a  grizzly,  both 
dead — his  favourite  saddle-mare  and  foal  near  by,  the 
mare  badly  torn.  The  bear  must  have  been  trying 
to  get  away  with  the  foal,  and  Pat,  with"  no  weapon 
but  a  knife,  had  attacked  tfie  robber.  Christ!"  he 
concluded,  "what  a  savage  fight!" 

Miller  asked  How  long  ago  it  fiappene'd. 

"My  second  year  as  'deputy  sheriff,"  answered 
Bailey,  meditatively.  "That  was  1855— tfiree  years 
ago.  Belle  was  sixteen.  SKe's  fathered  tfie  family 
ever  since." 

"He  es-speak  Spanisfi — little,"  remarked  Manuel, 


THOU  FEEDEST  THY  FLOCK  15 

ignoring  the  gender  of  his  personal  pronouns.  The 
old  fellow  was  laying  a  fire  in  the  highly  polished 
new  stove,  ready  for  morning. 

"You  hold  converse  with  her,  do  you?"  blandly 
asked  Miller. 

"Yeh,"  vaguely  answered  Manuel.  "Hold  horse 
es-sometime." 

Miller  solemnly  looked  at  Bailey.  The  sheriff  de 
tected  mischief  deep  in  those  eyes.  Not  a  muscle 
of  the  host's  face  twitched  under  the  crisp,  reddish 
beard  as  he  remarked  that  he  trusted  his  guest  would 
have  no  feeling  about  Manuel's  attentions. 

Bailey  was  not  quite  sure  whether  or  not  the  mas 
ter  of  Casa  Grande  were  making  fun  of  him.  He 
looked  steadily  into  the  other  man's  face  and  an 
swered  evenly :  "If  I  were  as  sure  of  you  as  I  am 
of  Manuel " 

"Me !"  It  was  too  mucH  for  Miller's  gravity,  and 
he  laughed.  "You  should  see  her  look  at  me,  Sam, 
when  we  meet.  Insolent — tfiat's  tfie  only  wor3  I 
know  for  it." 

"That's  it,"  reluctantly  admitted  Bailey.  "SHe 
does  care,  and  takes  that  way  of  hiding  it.  You 


16  CASA  GRANDE 

must  think  a  great  deal  of  a  person  before  you  can 
hate  him." 

It  was  sound  philosophy,  and  Miller  wondered  if 
his  guest  had  judged  the  girl  without  prejudice. 
Was  it  because  the  master  of  Casa  Grande  was 
young  and  prosperous  that  she  acted  as  she  did  ? 

"I'll  tell  you,  Sam,"  said  Miller,  rising  at  last  and 
laying  a  friendly  hand  on  his  guest's  shoulder,  "for 
two  dollars  an  acre  I'll  sell  tHe  squatters  any  land 
claimed  by  them  within  my  boundaries.  I'll  ride  to 
Dry  Creek  the  first  day  I  can  make  time  and  pro 
pose  it." 

"If  they  kick  and  snort,"  said  Bailey,  anxiously, 
"don't  get  mad.  Let  me  see  them  first." 

"I'll  not  get  mad,  Bailey,"  said  Miller,  going  to 
the  fireplace  and  taking  down  a  box  of  smoking  to 
bacco.  "It's  a  matter  of  indifference  whether  or  not 
they  buy.  They're  going  to  fight,  either  way.  Have 
a  smoke." 

Bailey  rolled  a  cigarette  and  lighted  it.  Manuel 
joined  them,  turning  down  his  sleeves  over  spare, 
yellow  arms  in  token  that  his  day's  work  was  fin 
ished.  Neat  and  methodical  himself,  the  house  was 


THOU  FEEDEST  THY  FLOCK  17 

an  expression  of  his  character.  The  orderliness  of 
the  place  was  hardly  feminine,  although  there  was 
a  deep  vein  of  femininity  in  the  Mexican's  make-up ; 
it  was,  rather,  military,  systematic,  the  habit  of 
early  training. 

"Don't  fight,  Miller,"  protested  Bailey,  throwing 
away  his  light.  "You  hold  human  life — the  mean 
est  of  it — too  sacred.  You  couldn't  kill  a  white  man 
and  a  neighbour !" 

The  three  men,  smoking  gravely,  soon  had  a  little 
blue  cloud  hanging  over  the  table.  Manuel  took  his 
cigarette  from  his  lips  and  thoughtfully  blew  the 
smoke  through  his  nostrils.  "Me  theenk,"  he  said, 
"we  fight." 

"Go  on!"  replied  Bailey,  banteringly.  "You're 
getting  old  and  bilious." 

"Why  do  you  think  so,  Manuel?"  kindly  asked 
Miller. 

"Es-squatter  fellahs  like  Indians.  Neber  leave 
hunting-grounds."  The  old  soldier's  mind  kept 
harking  back  to  the  days  of  his  youthful  experiences, 
no  race  quite  equalling  the  Indian  for  comparison 
with  squatters,  both  being  primitive. 


i8  CASA  GRANDE 

Miller  threw  away  his  cigarette,  rolled  up  the  map 
and  asked  Manuel  to  fetch  Mr.  Bailey's  candle. 

"No,  no,"  protested  the  guest,  jumping  from  his 
seat.  "I  must  go  home." 

"In  the  morning,"  hospitably  replied  the  host. 
"Your  horse  has  been  stabled  these  two  hours." 


CHAPTER  II 
BEHOLD,   HE  COMETH 

MILLER  kept  his  promise  to  the  sheriff,  and 
within  a  week  of  their  meeting  at   Casa 
Grande  the  owner  rode  over  to  the  squatter  settle 
ment,  about  three  miles  to  the  northeast. 

The  ranchero  was  mounted  on  a  lithe  bay  mare, 
which  swiftly  climbed  the  lazy  rises  of  intervening 
hills  dotted  thick  with  oak,  buckeye  and  madrono, 
and  at  the  top  he  wound  down  a  rough  grade,  little 
better  than  a  trail,  leading  to  Dry  Creek.  This  name 
had  been  given  to  a  wooded  vale  of  about  a  thou 
sand  acres  swung,  hammock-like,  high  in  the  hills 
that  separated  Napa  Valley  on  the  east  from  Sonoma 
Valley  on  the  west.  The  waterway  suggesting  the 
name,  dry  most  of  the  year,  ran  through  the  length 
of  the  little  garden-spot,  and  now  was  flowing  nois 
ily,  filled  by  late  showers. 

19 


20  CASA  GRANDE 

Around  the  point  of  a  knoll  the  little  valley  came 
fully  in  sight.  Scattered  along  the  creek,  in  the 
shade  of  great  trees,  were  half  a  dozen  cabins,  homes 
of  the  settlers  whose  claims  unfortunately  had 
proved  to  be  within  the  eastern  boundary  of  the 
grant.  Grapevine  and  fruit  trees,  patches  of  young 
grain  and  bands  of  grazing  cattle  gave  an  air  of 
prosperity,  and  from  wide-throated  chimneys  smoke- 
columns  suggested  the  fireside. 

The  rider  stopped  abruptly  as  the  view  opened 
before  him.  The  mare,  feeling  the  pressure  of  the 
bit,  tossed  her  head  and  laid  back  her  ears  irritably. 
Her  temper,  as  well  as  her  conformation,  told  of 
thoroughbred  descent,  and  the  man's  costume  and 
firm,  easy  seat  bespoke  him  a  horseman  born  and 
bred. 

While  he  paused  to  contemplate,  a  girl  stepped 
from  the  nearest  cabin  and  stood  on  the  porch.  Her 
glance  swept  the  hills  as  if  she  loved  them,  and  when 
her  gaze  rested  on  the  horseman  she  shaded  her  eyes 
with  her  palm,  then  descended  to  the  door-yard.  If 
she  divined  who  the  man  was,  nothing  in  her  de 
meanour  betrayed  her  knowledge.  She  walked  with  a 


BEHOLD,  HE  COMETH  21 

graceful  swing  telling  of  strength  and  resolution, 
and  passed  through  a  gate  into  another  yard,  where 
clamorous  fowls,  pigs,  calves  and  dogs,  crowding 
fearlessly  about  her,  told  of  something  sweet  and 
feminine. 

Miller  concluded  to  bargain  with  the  Clarks  first. 
They  held  a  leading  place  among  the  neighbours, 
who  would  be  influenced,  if  not  decided,  by  the  acts 
of  the  widow  and  her  daughter,  and  he  guided  Peggy 
in  the  direction  of  the  girl.  At  the  foot  of  the  grade 
the  road  crossed  the  little  stream.  Peggy  hesitated 
daintily  on  the  margin  of  the  water,  but  the  pressure 
of  her  rider's  knees  urged  her  in,  and  she  waded 
across,  splashing  diamond  drops  high  in  the  air. 
Turning  to  the  right,  they  skirted  a  zigzag  fence 
of  redwood  rails,  the  entrance,  at  the  side  of  the 
Clark  house,  closed  by  a  single  bar.  Miller  was 
about  to  dismount,  but  Peggy,  waiving  the  formality 
of  letting  down  the  rail,  lightly  cleared  it,  and 
stopped  before  the  porch. 

The  girl,  while  the  horseman  was  approaching, 
lingered  among  her  farm-yard  dependents  until  he 
.rode  near  enough  to  greet  her  politely.  She  turned 


22  CASA  GRANDE 

resentful  eyes  to  his,  but  the  sunshine,  the  humour, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  admiration  she  beheld,  drove 
the  chill  from  her  manner;  her  head  dropped 
in  confusion,  and  she  disappeared  behind  the 
cabin. 

Something  homelike  and  tidy  about  the  dwelling 
made  it  noticeable  among  its  fellows  in  the  glen. 
Rough  and  primitive  it  had  to  be,  but  there  also 
were  proportion  and  solidity,  suggesting  artistic 
sense  in  the  builder.  A  crimson  rose-bush  aflame 
with  bloom  climbed  over  the  north  end  and  almost 
hid  the  massive  chimney  laid  up  outside  the  wall, 
and  a  grapevine,  unfolding  its  new  leaves  to  the 
sunshine,  like  long-chilled  hands  when  warmed,  was 
trained  across  the  porch.  Between  porch  and  road 
a  garden  blossomed,  kept  fresh  the  year  round  by 
water  piped  from  a  spring.  The  woodwork  was 
bare  of  paint,  but  over  all  the  sun  had  spread  a  mel 
low  colouring  suggestive  of  fine  old  wine. 

The  girl's  mother  emerged  and  waited  on  the 
porch.  She  was  lean  and  muscular,  with  an  expres 
sion  not  unkindly,  yet  uncertain  of  her  position  in 
life,  the  responsibilities  of  the  family  having  long 


BEHOLD,  HE  COMETH  23 

ago  been  assumed  by  Belle.  Her  apron  and  her  bare 
arms  were  powdered  with  flour,  but  otherwise  her 
dress  was  neat.  The  odour  of  frying  pork  warned 
the  man  of  the  nearness  to  noon. 

"Good  morning,"  was  the  widow's  abrupt  greet 
ing. 

Miller  asked  if  she  were  Mrs.  Clark. 

The  woman  assented  by  silence,  and  her  caller 
knew  sufficient  of  his  neighbours  to  state  his  business 
at  once. 

"I  came  over,"  he  began,  hesitating,  "to  see  if  I 
can  trade  for  your  improvements." 

"My  old  man  was  always  ready  to  trade  anything 
except  the  children  and  me,  and  I'm  like  him." 

"There  must  be  Scotch  or  Irish  about  you,"  ob 
served  Miller,  feeling  that  the  ice  had  been  broken. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  curtly;  "both." 

"But  you  are  American  born,"  he  suggested,  with 
rising  inflection.  "I  take  you  to  be  a  native  of  Mis 
souri  or  Kentucky?" 

"No—Tennessee." 

"Somewhere  from  the  South,"  he  hopefully  con 
tinued.  "I  belong  there,  too ;  I  was  born  in  Virginia, 


24  CASA  GRANDE 

although  my  father  was  a  Scotchman.  I  think  we 
can  trade." 

Mrs.  Clark  approached  the  porch  rail  and,  em 
bracing  one  of  the  posts,  stood  oppressively  silent. 
Her  heredity  had  taught  her  to  keep  advantage  in  a 
bargain  by  having  the  other  person  make  the  offers. 
While  they  stood  thus,  Belle,  having  left  her  chick 
ens,  joined  her  mother,  as  silent  as  the  older  woman. 
The  man  lost  no  phase  of  the  picture,  and  the  humour 
of  it  glowed  in  his  eyes.  Even  Peggy  began  to  feel 
the  hostility  of  the  surroundings  and  moved  un 
easily. 

"What  will  you  take?"  he  ventured,  making  the 
final  plunge. 

"Five  thousand  dollars,"  was  the  quick  reply.  It 
was  evident  that  the  matter  of  sale  and  values  had 
been  considered  by  at  least  this  family. 

"I  didn't  mean  the  land,"  he  soothingly  explained. 
"Just  the  improvements — stock,  tools  and  furniture, 
if  you  choose." 

"Five  thousand  dollars,  I  said,"  came  the  emphatic 
rejoinder,  notwithstanding  the  tone  of  his  last 
speech. 


BEHOLD,  HE  COMETH  25 

"Now  we  begin  to  understand  each  other,"  he  af 
fably  continued.  "Of  course,  you  want  all  you  can 
get,  but  that  will  largely  depend  on  what  I  can  pay." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  can  pay.  You  asked  what 
I'd  take.  You  know  now,  don't  ye?" 

"I  know  what  you  ask.  But  now  that  you  must 
give  up  this  land — move  off " 

"We're  not  going  to  give  up  this  land,"  inter 
rupted  the  widow,  "so  there's  no  use  talking.  We 
might  sell,  if  we  could  get  a  fair  price.  You  nor 
nobody  else  '11  put  us  off — not  so  long  as  we  can 
shoot."  She  changed  the  arm  encircling  the  post. 

"I  bought  and  paid  for  this  land,"  he  said,  ignor 
ing  the  threat. 

"I  don't  know  what  you've  bought,  nor  what 
you've  stolen,  nor  what  you'd  like  to  steal.  This  is 
my  place.  We've  lived  here  eight  years — more  than 
the  law  requires  to  get  title."  She  stepped  back  and 
leaned  against  the  house,  as  if  she  had  finished. 

Her  caller  was  persistent.  He  rode  nearer  and 
asked  why  they  didn't  get  title. 

"Wait  till  they  settle  that  Aguas  Frias  grant,"  she 
answered. 


26  CASA  GRANDE 

"You  saw  the  surveyors,"  he  insisted,  "running 
the  lines  of  the  Aguas  Frias  on  the  other  side  of  this 
valley — those  lines  take  in  your  land." 

"Yes;  we  saw  men  driving  stakes  over  there.  I 
pulled  'em  up.  No  surveyors  can  survey  us  out  of 
here!" 

He  suggested  that  they  buy  his  title. 

She  contemptuously  answered  that  she  wouldn't 
buy  what  was  already  hers. 

"My  dear  woman,"  he  continued,  in  great  per 
plexity,  "can't  you  understand  that  the  Government 
never  intended  this  land  for  settlement  until  after 
the  grant  lines  had  been  established  ?  You're  a  squat 
ter — always  have  been — never  had  any  right  here, 
never  could  nor  can  get  title.  I " 

"Why  didn't  some  one  find  that  out  before  ?"  she 
interrupted.  "We've  been  here  long  enough!" 

He  saw  what  a  useless  mission  he  had  undertaken ; 
he  would  make  a  last  offer,  and  go.  "I'm  simply 
repeating  the  decision  made  by  the  court  a  few  weeks 
since,"  he  said,  quietly,  in  conclusion.  "I  don't  pro 
pose  to  take  any  advantage  of  you,  but  this  is  my 
land.  I'll  buy  your  improvements  and  anything  you 


BEHOLD,  HE  COMETH  27 

don't  want  to  take  away,  rather  than  make  further 
trouble;  or  I'll  sell  the  land  at  two  dollars  an  acre." 

The  girl  stepped  resolutely  to  the  front  of  the 
porch,  and  the  caller  saw  that  his  errand  was  not  yet 
ended.  "See  here,  Mr.  Miller,"  she  indignantly  ex 
claimed,  "maw's  had  her  say ;  I'll  have  mine.  Even 
if  maw's  willing  to  sell,  we  ain't.  We — the  boys 
and  me — have  something  to  say.  We've  worked 
and  grubbed  and  saved  on  this  place  till  we've  as 
much  interest  as  any  one,  and  we  won't  sell ;  neither 
will  we  buy — it's  ours !" 

"That's  for  you  to  decide,"  he  answered,  indif 
ferently. 

"We  don't  want  to  sell,  and  you  can't  put  us  off !" 

"Oh,  come  now,  Miss  Clark " 

"My  name's  Belle,"  she  interrupted;  "it's  good 
enough  for  me !" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Belle."  He  looked  kindly  at 
her.  "I  didn't  come  to  discuss  what  I  can  do,  nor 
what  you  can  do.  I  want  to  pay  you  for  your  im 
provements,  or  I  want  pay  for  my  land.  When  I 
must  put  you  off,  I  shall  apply  to  the  court  for  a  writ 
of  ejectment  and  let  the  sheriff  execute  it." 


28  CASA  GRANDE 

"We'll  defy  the  court,  and  the  sheriff,  too/*  she 
wrathfully  answered.  "We'll  band  together,  and 
then  see  what  kind  of  a  fight  we'll  make.  The  sheriff 
won't  bother  a  handful  of  settlers  'way  out  here  in 
Dry  Creek.  Not  much.  Nobody  round  here's  going 
to  fight  us ;  we're  all  in  the  same  fix !" 

"I  didn't  know  that  women  could  be  so  childish, 
so  unreasonable,"  exclaimed  Miller,  in  disgust.  He 
dismounted,  readjusted  the  saddle-blanket  and  took 
Peggy  by  the  bit.  She  had  grown  restless  and  would 
no  longer  stand  to  his  command. 

"We're  not  unreasonable,"  defiantly  answered 
Belle.  "It's  our  home,  and  we  want  it.  We've 
dragged  around  from  one  place  to  another  till  we're 
sick  of  moving." 

"Why  did  you  move  here,  anyway?"  he  impa 
tiently  demanded. 

"It  was  the  only  place  we  could  find,"  she  an 
swered,  rather  more  gently  than  she  had  yet  spoken. 
"We've  lived  in  Missouri,  in  Kentucky,  in  Tennes 
see,  in  Utah,  and  now  here.  We  crossed  the  plains 
in  '50,  starting  from  Southern  Utah.  When  we 
reached  Los  Angeles  everything  had  been  sold  to 


BEHOLD,  HE  COMETH  29 

take  us  through.  We  lived  six  months  in  'Frisco, 
and  when  we  had  saved  enough  to  buy  an  outfit  we 
started  to  find  land."  She  threw  back  a  heavy  braid 
of  wavy  hair  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead. 

"We  crossed  over  to  Oakland,"  she  continued, 
"and  drove  up  the  bay-shore  to  Benicia ;  all  the  way 
it  was  Spanish  grants — no  Government  land — every 
thing  held  in  the  name  of  grants  by  rich  land-grab 
bers.  I  believe  now  that  not  half  were  grants — just 
lies  to  keep  poor  people  like  us  off  the  land  and  turn 
it  over  to  cattle  and  horses."  Indignation  made  her 
pause  again. 

"It  was  the  same  this  side  the  bay.  All  the  good 
land  was  grant.  Grant,  grant,  morning,  noon  and 
night.  Do  you  wonder  that  we  are  sick  of  the 
name?" 

The  ranchero  looked  up  in  surprise.  She  was 
growing  confidential — asking  his  opinion.  Only 
nineteen !  Her  mind  was  mature  for  her  years,  but 
her  pearly  complexion  under  its  hue  of  tan,  the  scar 
let  lips  and  clear,  hazel  eyes,  bespoke  youth — vivid, 
glowing  youth. 

"We  heard  of  this  little  valley  at  last,  out  here  be- 


30  CASA  GRANDE 

yond  the  reach  of  grants."  She  spoke  absently,  the 
memory  of  their  trip  still  vivid.  "It  was  in  May 
when  we  came.  After  the  sand  and  mud  of  'Frisco, 
Dry  Creek  was  a  garden.  We  all  said,  'Here's  the 
place  for  a  home,'  and  here  we  settled.  We've 
worked  and  fought  and  saved  to  make  it  what  it  is. 

Our  dead  father "     Her  voice  failed,  and  she 

mutely  pointed  to  a  little  picket- fenced  enclosure,  the 
green  of  sweetbriars  massed  in  it  pink  with  blos 
soms.  She  looked  shamefaced  that,  in  her  excite 
ment,  he  had  caught  her  yielding  to  an  emotion  for 
her  dead,  and  went  on  evenly  again:  "Now  you 
come  and  claim  this  for  your  land.  I  say  you're  a 
liar,  you're  a  thief — just  like  those  other  land-grab 
bers,  from  Oakland  to  Cloverdale." 

The  girl  had  made  an  eloquent  plea  for  posses 
sion;  not  by  voice  alone,  but  by  lips,  eyes,  by  her 
youth,  by  every  curve  of  a  figure  moulded  in  unre 
strained  activity.  It  was  not  enough  that  hands  and 
arms  had  emphasised  her  speech,  but  all  the  yielding 
lines  from  throat  to  foot  had  rippled  in  the  swing 
of  earnestness.  If  her  coarse,  almost  masculine  gar 
ments  failed  to  hide  feminine  graces,  what  symmetry 


BEHOLD,  HE  COMETH  31 

might  not  a  modish  gown  on  her  reveal,  what  per 
sonal  charms  might  not  a  more  conventional  garb 
disclose  ? 

The  man's  resolution  weakened  before  the  charm 
of  intense,  unconscious  womanliness.  Emotion, 
when  aroused,  does  not  reason,  and  that  was  what 
he  was  facing.  To  an  undeveloped  nature  like 
Belle's  what  difference  is  right  or  wrong  when  feel 
ing  stirs  ?  Here  were  their  home,  their  fireside,  the 
resting-place  of  their  dead,  all  worth  dying  for.  The 
pity  of  it  was  that  the  administration  of  public  lands 
had  been  lax  and  incompetent.  His  reflections  sug 
gested  one  more  question. 

"Did  your  father  ever  ask  a  lawyer  about  the 
right  to  locate  here?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  girl,  eager  to  vindicate 
their  possession.  "Judge  Aiken  told  him  this 
land  was  outside  the  grant  boundaries  open  to 
settlers." 

"And,"  added  her  mother,  anxious  that  nothing 
should  be  forgotten,  "he  went  to  the  Land  Office  in 
'Frisco,  and  they  told  him  the  land  was  outside  the 
grant,  and  Government  land." 


32  CASA  GRANDE 

"Did  he  file  a  claim  on  it,  then?"  asked  Miller,  a 
new  interest  in  his  tones. 

"No,"  reluctantly  answered  the  girl.  "He  wanted 
to,  but  they  told  him  they  couldn't  take  his  money 
till  the  Aguas  Frias  had  been — something,"  she 
vaguely  concluded. 

"Been  confirmed?"  suggested  her  questioner. 

"Yes.     Till  the  ranch  had  been  confirmed. 

The  ranchero's  anticipations  fell  again.  These 
people  had  had  premonitions  of  a  conflict  when  the 
time  came  to  perfect  title  to  their  claims.  The  prob 
abilities  had  evidently  been  intelligently  discussed. 
He  still  felt  justified  in  his  determination  to  recover 
his  rights,  but  not  quite  so  resolute  in  enforcing 
them.  He  need  but  look  about  him  to  see  what  this 
home-building  had  been  to  the  family,  and  especially 
to  the  girl,  whose  feminine  touches  showed  every- 
where.  The  house,  partly  shaded  by  spreading  oaks ; 
the  garden ;  the  old  hound,  stiff  and  rheumatic,  loll 
ing  in  the  sun ;  the  flock  of  noisy,  scratching  fowls — 
told  of  home  love  and  contentment,  appealing  forci 
bly  to  like  sentiments  in  the  man's  nature. 

Even  if  Miller's  mission  had  been  thus  far  inef- 


BEHOLD,  HE  COMETH  33 

factual,  his  call  on  these  neighbours  had  at  least  pro 
moted  a  better  understanding.  He  knew  more  of  the 
motives  at  the  base  of  the  girl's  antagonism  to  his 
coming  on  the  range;  and  she,  too,  now  realised  that 
the  new  master  of  Aguas  Frias  had  some  justifica 
tion  for  claiming  the  land  in  Dry  Creek.  She  began 
to  appreciate  that,  after  all,  he  was  human,  and 
something  in  his  blue  eyes — was  it  admiration  of 
her  ? — gave  a  new  interest  to  his  face. 

The  young  people  were  indulging  in  somewhat 
personal  reveries,  when  Tom,  the  older  of  the  two 
sons,  and  younger  than  Belle,  rode  into  the  yard. 
Across  the  withers  of  his  horse  was  a  dead  stag,  a 
rifle  lying  on  the  deer's  body.  He  came  nearer  to 
the  group  and  sat  looking  questioningly  at  Miller. 
Belle  stepped  from  the  porch  and  told  her 
brother  that  Mr.  Miller  had  come  to  put  them 
off  the  land. 

The  hazel  eyes  of  the  slim,  wiry  youth  of  seven 
teen  flashed,  and  his  sallow  skin  grew  darker.  Lift 
ing  his  rifle  with  shaking  fingers,  he  swung  toward 
the  caller,  and  suddenly  asked  him  if  he  were  armed. 

Miller  stepped  quite  close  to  his  challenger  and 


34  CASA  GRANDE 

confronted  him  with  a  costume  devoid  of  the  slight 
est  trace  of  warfare. 

"I'll  shoot  you  like  a  skunk,"  said  the  boy,  "if  you 
come  here  again.  I'd  do  it  now,  only  I  ain't  shoot 
ing  unarmed  men." 

The  unarmed  man  smiled  good-naturedly.  His 
manner  was  neither  reckless  nor  indifferent,  but 
quietly  alert,  as  if  he  knew  his  danger  and  was  pre 
pared  to  meet  it.  He  still  held  Peggy  by  the  bit, 
and  the  mare  sniffed  suspiciously  at  Tom's  mount 
and  the  dead  deer,  and  laid  back  her  ears  protest- 
ingly.  Her  master  placed  his  free  hand  quietly  on 
the  other  horse's  neck  and,  looking  Tom  in  the  eye, 
slowly  said : 

"Do  you  think  that  shooting  will  settle  this  mat 
ter,  my  boy  ?  My  title  is  a  public  record,  and  it  can 
be  changed  only  with  my  consent  or  a  decree  of 
court.  One  court  has  already  decreed  that  this  land 
is  mine,  and  I  wrant  it.  I'm  willing  to  pay  for  your 
improvements  and  your  stock  and  your  implements, 
but  I  want  the  land,  or  I  want  pay  for  it." 

"Where  did  you  get  this  land?"  asked  Tom,  with 
rising  voice.  "You  stole  it.  You're  a  thief,  a  grab- 


BEHOLD,  HE  COMETH  35 

tier,  and  you  think  you  can  come  here  and  scare  us 
off.  You  can't!  There's  somebody  besides  women 
in  this  family.  Try  to  put  us  off,  and  see.  I'll  shoot 
the  first  man  that  sets  foot  here,  whether  it'll  settle 
anything  or  not !" 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  all  ?"  asked  a  drawl 
ing  voice.  .Wash,  the  youngest  of  the  family,  had 
slouched  up  unnoticed,  and  stood  behind  them,  his 
rifle  over  his  shoulder,  a  pair  of  jack-rabbits  in  hand. 
He  was  fourteen,  stoop-shouldered,  even-tempered, 
and  as  slow  of  speech  as  the  others  were  quick. 

His  sister  regarded  him  with  irritation,  caused, 
apparently,  by  his  easy  curiosity  when  the  others 
were  boiling  with  resentment.  "Matter  enough," 
she  assured  the  youngster.  "Miller  wants  to  put  us 
off  our  land — claims  it's  his." 

"Will  he  give  us  anything  to  move?"  shrewdly 
asked  the  newcomer. 

"For  the  improvements,"  answered  Belle. 

"Going  to  take  it?" 

"We're  going  to  fight    We'll  never  get  off  alive !" 

"You  hear  me,"  drawled  the  boy,  "and  sell.  No 
use  fighting." 


36  CASA  GRANDE 

"No  use  anything,  if  we  were  all  like  you,  Wash 
Clark."  The  girl's  eyes  snapped  and  her  cheeks 
showed  deep  colouring.  She  walked  back  to  the 
porch,  and  turned  at  the  stone  step.  "You're  a  cow 
ard.  You  wouldn't  fight  a  jack-rabbit  unless  you 
had  a  gun." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  boy,  with  placid  unconcern, 
"I'll  fight  if  there's  anything  to  gain.  I'll  not  fight 
windmills,  though." 

"Windmills!"  exclaimed  Belle.  Words  failed  her 
for  the  moment. 

The  man  who  was  an  unwilling  observer  of  this 
attempt  at  family  discipline  relaxed  the  tension  of 
the  last  minute  or  two.  The  old  humourous  light 
again  played  in  his  eyes,  and  he  wondered  what  the 
boy  knew  about  Don  Quixote.  The  girl  evidently 
was  not  equal  to  Wash's  slow  emotions,  nor  his  droll 
fancy.  The  prospect  of  a  tragedy  was  rapidly  be 
coming  farcical. 

"Who's  fighting  windmills?"  asked  Belle,  at 
last. 

"The  fellow  that  fights  Government  lines,"  said 
her  brother.  "I've  been  thinking  about  him  ever 


BEHOLD,  HE  COMETH  37 

since  the  surveyors  put  the  stakes  over  there.  The 
land  must  be  his." 

"That  was  the  decision  of  court  the  other  day," 
explained  Miller.  "You  heard  it." 

"Why,"  asked  the  boy,  addressing  Miller,  "did 
you  get  this  land  ?  I  thought  you  bought  the  valleys 
of  the  Aguas  Frias  and  the  Calabezas."  He  was 
facing  the  man,  his  rough,  tanned  hands  resting  on 
the  muzzle  of  his  gun,  its  butt  on  the  ground..  There 
was  an  expression  on  his  face  of  wise  curiosity. 

The  owner  of  Aguas  Frias  was  pleased  to  have 
an  opportunity  to  explain  how  the  eastern  boundary 
of  his  ranch  became  involved,  and  he  briefly  told  the 
boy  why  he  had  been  obliged  to  accept  Dry  Creek 
Valley  in  lieu  of  the  more  desirable  Calabezas  lands. 

"It's  all  a  lie,"  said  Belle,  joining  the  group.  "You 
wanted  this  land  for  your  stock,  and  if  the  Govern 
ment  has  put  it  inside  your  lines,  it's  because  you've 
bought  us  out.  But  you'll  never  live  to  call  it  yours. 
When  we  move  off,  you'll  never  move  on !" 

The  girl  was  getting  beside  herself ;  so  was  Peggy. 
The  mare  lunged  on  the  bit,  tried  to  rear  out  of  her 
master's  grasp,  and  run  from  the  discord  evident  in 


38  CASA  GRANDE 

tone,  if  not  in  word.  The  man,  too,  was  ready  to 
go,  and  was  steadying  himself  for  a  leap  to  the  sad 
dle,  when  Tom  again  called  to  him : 

"Get  out.  of  here  quick,  John  Miller,  before  I  put 
a  ball  through  you."  The  boy's  voice  was  pitched 
high,  and  he  waved  the  rifle  threateningly. 

As  soon  as  Peggy  felt  Miller's  weight  in  the  sad 
dle  she  darted  for  the  opening  in  the  fence.  He 
brought  her  back  to  the  angry  group  and  turned  to 
Belle  as  the  virtual  head  of  the  family.  In  his  glance 
was  a  fire  she  had  never  seen,  and  instinctively  she 
drew  back.  She  knew  that  he  had  reached  the  end 
of  his  patience  and  that  his  will  was  masterful. 

"I  didn't  come  to  make  trouble,"  he  said,  gently. 
"I'll  leave.  Don't  work  yourselves  into  unnecessary 
passion.  I've  been  fair  and  neighbourly.  Now  I'll 
turn  you  over  to  the  sheriff.  Shoot  him." 

The  caller  swayed  in  his  seat,  and  that  gave  the 
mare  her  cue.  She  bounded  for  the  bars  and  cleared 
them  with  a  leap.  When  on  the  trail  she  increased 
her  speed,  crossing  the  brook  in  two  strides,  and 
stretched  away  up  the  hillside  in  the  direction  from 
which  they  had  come  a  little  while  before. 


BEHOLD,  HE  COMETH  39 

The  widow,  watching  the  horse  and  rider  disap 
pear  up  the  trail,  remarked  that  he  leaped  their 
fences  as  if  they  already  had  no  right  there. 

"I  want  to  hear  a  fop  like  him  talk  about  turning 
us  over  to  the  sheriff,"  scornfully  observed  Tom, 
throwing  the  stag  on  the  ground  and  dismounting. 
"Look  at  the  bit  of  pigskin  he  calls  a  saddle !  Look 
at  the  pipe-stem  legs  of  his  mare !  I've  a  notion  to 
follow  him  and  show  him  how  to  ride." 

"Don't,"  said  Belle,  drily,  walking  up  to  the  deer. 

Her  brother  sharply  faced  her,  and  wanted  to 
know  why  not. 

"You  saw  him  clear  the  bars?  You  saw  him 
cross  the  brook?"  The  girl  nodded  wisely.  "The 
horse  that  can  follow  him  don't  happen  to  be  on 
this  range — to-day — nor  in  the  country." 


CHAPTER  III 

MY  SOUL  HAD  FAILED  ME 

BAILEY  closely  followed  Miller's  fruitless  expe 
dition  to  Dry  Creek.  Before  the  master  of  Casa 
Grande  made  his  final  cast  the  sheriff  had  been  given 
an  opportunity  to  see  the  squatters,  and  his  interview 
failed  in  its  purpose  quite  as  dismally  as  the  one 
first  attempted  by  the  ranchero.  The  friend  of  the 
settlers,  the  man  who  knew  them  well,  who  had 
grown  up  among  them,  cheerfully  set  out  this  morn 
ing  on  his  self-appointed  mission.  He  now  was 
riding  from  defeat  toward  Casa  Grande,  stoop- 
shouldered  and  depressed. 

Along  the  grassy  trail  the  horse  stepped  alertly 
to  the  jangle  of  little  bells  on  heavy  roweled  spurs. 
The  soil  was  warm  with  the  fever  of  reproduction, 
and  through  the  heavens  fleecy  clouds  strayed  lazily, 

now  and  then  crossing  the  sun.     The  god  of  day 

40 


MY  SOUL  HAD  FAILED  ME  41 

was  in  his  holy  temple,  and  the  earth  gave  prodi 
gally  both  praise  and  perfume.  The  joy  of  it  all, 
however,  did  not  gladden  the  approaching  rider,  for 
duty,  grim  and  resolute,  threatened  his  undoing. 

The  Clarks  had  refused,  with  childlike  consis 
tency,  either  to  buy  Miller's  title  or  sell  their  im 
provements.  Others  of  the  squatters  proved  quite 
as  unreasonable.  Both  propositions  had  been  dis 
cussed  by  the  colony,  and  the  decision  reached  was 
unanimous.  The  next  move  would  require  force, 
armed  force,  and  perhaps  bloodshed.  What,  then, 
would  become  of  the  sheriff's  day  dreams? 

Bailey's  plan  of  life,  on  its  domestic  side,  included 
Belle.  He  never  had  consulted  her,  except  in  fancy, 
when  through  lonely  watches  her  spirit  waited  with 
his.  He  was  not  imaginative,  and  he  had  not  deemed 
it  necessary  to  make  a  confidante  of  the  girl.  She 
long  ago  must  have  seen  that  he  favoured  her,  and 
that  was  sufficient.  His  purpose  had  seemed  natural 
and  reasonable  until  to-day,  when  a  woman's  whim 
unseated  him.  Through  the  gray  dawn  of  his  court 
ship  he  had  been  herding  phantoms,  soft  figures 
moving  as  if  alive;  but  in  the  light  of  sudden  defeat 


42  CASA  GRANDE 

those  uncertain  forms  had  taken  shape — bleak  rocks 
and  gnarled  stumps  beside  a  lonely  and  unfamiliar 
trail,  rotting  logs  on  the  uplands,  and  clumps  of 
brush  in  the  gullies. 

To  get  back  again  into  the  dawning;  to  feel  that 
his  plan  of  life  would  develop  as  he  had  dreamed  of 
it !  He  never  had  thought  of  putting  her  love  to  the 
test ;  there  had  been  no  need  for  it.  But  this  morn 
ing  the  test  unconsciously  had  been  thrust  upon  her, 
and  it  shocked  him  to  discover  how  small  a  place 
he  filled  in  her  regard.  He  had  taken  too  much  for 
granted,  and  he  harshly  condemned  the  serenity  of 
his  assumption  that  all  he  need  do  was  ask  and  she 
would  yield  the  utmost  he  required  of  her. 

He  realised,  at  last,  that  she  must  be  won,  and 
his  first  impulse  was  to  temporise  with  duty.  If  he 
ejected  the  squatters,  he  would  forfeit  her  friend 
ship,  and  that  of  her  family;  it  was  inevitable,  and 
a  way  must  be  found  to  avoid  the  issue  for  the  time. 
Always  before  he  had  done  his  duty  unfalteringly; 
it  had  been  simply  a  matter  of  dollars  and  cents  and 
the  demands  of  office.  Now  he  felt  in  his  obligation 
the  sting  of  personal  interest,  and  he  wavered  under 


MY  SOUL  HAD  FAILED  ME  43 

an  appalling  prospect  of  loss,  unable  to  realise  that 
he  never  could  hold  a  woman's  esteem  unless  he  pre 
served  self-respect. 

The  horseman  roused  from  his  moody  reverie  when 
he  saw  just  below  him,  farther  down  the  slope,  the 
red-tiled  roof  of  Casa  Grande.  Among  clustering 
oaks  and  madronos,  the  house,  a  hollow  square, 
stood  rugged  and  unpretentious,  typical  of  the  man 
who  had  chosen  it  as  his  dwelling-place.  There  was 
an  air  about  it  of  comfort  and  prosperity,  stirring 
in  the  sheriff  a  quite  unreasonable  feeling  of  resent 
ment.  Yet  some  one  must  bear  the  blame  of  his 
still-smarting  discomfiture,  and  was  it  not  on 
Miller'  account  that  he  had  sallied  forth  this 
morning? 

Bailey's  train  of  thought  changed  and  his  irrita 
tion  deepened.  Everything  turned  for  the  ranchero's 
advancement.  The  road  he  travelled  was  wide  and 
smooth",  while  other  men  must  dig  and  hew  and 
blast.  The  sheriff  would  not  be  another  instrument 
insuring  progress  for  him  to  whom  success  was  easy. 
The  officer  of  the  court,  in  dispossessing  the  squat 
ters,  would  see  the  law  executed  with  justice  to  all ; 


44  CAS  A  GRANDE 

his  oath  required  that;  petty  quarrels  of  neighbours 
must  be  adjusted  without  his  aid. 

The  rider  moved  petulantly  in  his  saddle,  and  his 
mount  instinctively  broke  to  a  canter,  to  be  suddenly 
pulled  up  to  a  walk  again.  As  they  came  nearer  the 
dwelling  Bailey  could  see  a  bell  on  the  old  watch- 
tower  rising  from  the  centre  of  the  hollow  square. 
While  he  gazed,  a  rope  tightened,  and  the  bell  turned 
over,  clanging  the  noon  hour.  Many  years  that 
sound  had  echoed  martially  in  the  wooded  foothills, 
and  to  what  purpose?  Now  it  summoned  tired  and 
hungry  men  to  rest  and  refreshment,  waking,  for 
the  first  time,  a  sense  of  homeliness.  Even  the  sad 
dle-horses  had  learned  the  meaning  of  it,  and  whin 
nied  responsively. 

Bailey  did  not  care  to  eat ;  the  tolling  melody  from 
the  tower  did  not  stir  his  appetite,  but  it  brought  to 
his  imagination  the  old  cook,  who,  day  after  day, 
faithfully  rang  the  summons.  A  lesson  was  in  that 
solitary  character.  However  much  the  man  that 
was  hesitating  might  despise  the  Mexican  race  and 
all  spirits  kindred  to  it,  he  realised  with  almost  sav 
age  resentment  that  in  Manuel,  who  now  served 


MY  SOUL  HAD  FAILED  ME  45 

cheerfully,  although  he  once  had  been  served,  there 
was  no  faltering  in  duty. 

As  the  visitor  came  nearer,  the  sound  of  hoofs  on 
the  road  leading  to  the  stable  told  the  inmates  of 
Casa  Grande  that  a  stranger  was  approaching.  The 
range  horses  were  barefooted;  their  tread  on  the 
well-worn  thoroughfare  fell  muffled  and  shuffling, 
easily  distinguished  from  the  solid  ring  of  shod 
hoofs.  Gyp,  the  tawny  collie,  and  Manuel  appeared 
at  the  open  front  door,  the  dog  to  bark  her  welcome 
and  leap  to  the  muzzle  of  the  sheriff's  horse,  the  man 
to  wave  greeting. 

In  the  stable  Miller  was  filling  mangers.  He 
looked  smilingly  at  the  visitor  and  continued  his 
task,  pitching  hay  with  the  ease  of  a  trained  labourer. 
Bailey  watcried  furtively,  and  wondered  at  the  pleas 
ure  his  host  took  in  menial  tasks  lie  could  well  afford 
to  hire  the  doing  of.  The  motive  must  be  more  com 
pelling  than  sordidness,  for  Miller's  disposition  was 
generous.  The  caller's  sluggish  perception  caught 
at  the  idea  of  duty,  a  vague  suggestion  as  yet,  but 
one  that  grew  steadily  in  his  mind.  He  turned 
alertly  at  last,  took  his  welcome  as  a  matter  of 


46  CASA  GRANDE 

course,  as  the  host  had  done,  stripped  saddle  and 
bridle  from  his  mount,  and  tied  the  animal  in  a  stall. 
Primitive  souls  need  few  words  to  determine  the 
quality  of  hospitality. 

As  the  two  friends  stepped  from  the  building,  the 
vaqueros  galloped  up,  shouting  and  cutting  boyish 
capers.  They  Had  earned  an  Hour's  rest,  and  they 
took  it  strenuously,  as  they  took  work.  Close  at 
their  Heels  were  the  dogs,  almost  human  in  their 
understanding  of  tHe  riders'  moods  and  purposes. 
To  the  clamour  of  the  men  was  added  the  yelping  of 
the  pack,  never  too  weary  to  respond  to  the  humour 
of  tHeir  aclore'd  masters.  While  never  too  weary  to 
responcf,  tHey  sometimes  were  too  footsore,  and  then 
tHey  must  He  tie'd  up  until  bleeding  soles  could  be 
renewecf  again.  Even  tHey  Ha'd  duties  to  perform, 
in  spite  of  bodily  discomfort,  an'd  to  tHeir  credit  it 
was  that  Aguas  Frias  was  kept  quite  free  from  four- 
footed  prowlers. 

Miller  carried  a  forkful  of  Hay  wHicH  He  put  in 
Peggy's  box-stall,  opening  to  the  courtyard.  THe 
mare's  Head  was  out  of  tHe  open  upper  Half  of  Eer 
'door,  and  she  whinnie'd  an'd  laid  back  Her  ears,  giving 


MY  SOUL  HAD  FAILED  ME  47 

to  her  intelligent  countenance  an  aspect  of  harmless 
viciousness  entirely  ignored  by  her  master.  After 
he  had  petted  her  and  smoothed  her  glossy  neck,  she 
must  lower  her  velvety  muzzle  to  the  caresses  of  the 
collie,  which  often  came  to  visit  the  comfortable 
prisoner. 

By  the  side  of  Peggy's  box  was  the  deserted  stall 
of  Mad  Anthony  Wayne,  the  monarch  of  the  cow 
herd.  The  old  fellow  was  not  idle  these  days,  for 
his  domain  was  wide  and  his  cares  many.  He  was 
a  courageous  fighter,  bulk  and  strength  making  him 
formidable.  Never  yet  had  invading  hoof  or  claw, 
after  giving  battle  to  the  bull,  emerged  alive  from 
conflict.  He  was  the  pride  of  every  man  of  them,  an 
unconscious  hero  placing  duty  above  even  life  itself. 

Wherever  the  sheriff  turned,  a  lesson  of  duty  chal 
lenged  him.  Like  the  wave  to  a  sturdy  swimmer,  it 
was  plunged  into  and  buffeted  here  with  resolute 
strokes.  No  holding  back  nor  complaining,  but  each 
allotment  was  cheerfully  undertaken  and  carried  to 
the  end,  thus  adding  to  the  comfort  and  prosperity 
characteristic  of  Aguas  Frias. 

Seven  men  surrounded  the  dining-table  in  the 


48  CASA  GRANDE 

centre  of  the  big  living-room  and  dropped  into 
places,  with  a  cover  or  two  to  spare,  and  from  the 
heaping  platter  of  stew  a  savoury  vapour  rose  appe- 
tisingly.  The  vaqueros  took  their  meals  seriously,  as 
they  did  all  things  that  came  to  them,  without  dis 
cussion,  and  refused  to  linger  over  even  their  pleas 
ures. 

Behind  the  company,  in  silent  expectancy,  ranged 
the  dogs,  enviously  watching  every  motion  of  knife 
and  fork — their  dinner,  a  feast  or  a  famine,  depend 
ing  on  what  remained.  There  was  little  promise  of 
many  basketfuls,  but  they  stealthily  eyed  the  cook 
now  and  then,  as  if  with  faith  in  his  ability  to  add 
to  the  fragments.  When  the  meal  was  eaten,  the 
inevitable  box  of  tobacco  appeared,  and  cigarettes 
were  rolled  and  lighted. 

Bailey  and  the  master  lingered  after  the  others, 
who  withdrew  to  the  sunshine  of  the  courtyard  and 
gossipped  of  the  morning's  work.  Miller  knew  from 
the  preoccupied  manner  of  the  sheriff  that  the  skein 
of  his  duties  had  snarled,  and  the  host  waited  to  be 
asked  for  help  in  disentangling  the  thread.  The 
man  who  met  life  resolutely  could  not  know,  how- 


MY  SOUL  HAD  FAILED  ME  49 

ever,  that  his  wavering  brother  had  caught  the  spirit 
of  Casa  Grande  and  that  duty  radiantly  beckoned 
him  once  again. 

"I'd  like  to  club  those  Ethiopian  asses!"  was  the 
sheriff's  abrupt  beginning. 

"Any  one  in  particular?"  blandly  asked  Miller, 
flicking  the  ash  from  his  cigarette. 

"The  squatters,"  was  the  irritable  answer. 
"They've  talked  it  over  and  propose  to  stand  to 
gether." 

Miller's  face  lighted  with  a  quiet  smile.  "If  I 
remember  correctly,"  he  drawled,  "you  advised  pa 
tience  in  my  case." 

"Yes,  I  know."  The  bushy  eyebrows  of  the  sheriff 
met  in  a  scowl.  "Rub  it  in !  Tramp  on  me,  now  I'm 
down." 

The  host  leaned  against  the  table  and  laughed 
until  his  guest  was  compelled  to  join.  The  owner  of 
Casa  Grande  reminded  his  friend  that  one  doctrine 
should  not  be  preached  and  another  practised. 

The  sheriff  walked  to  the  fireplace  and  threw 
away  his  cigarette.  As  he  returned  to  his  seat  he 
said:  "You  might  call  me  down  for  some  other 


50  CASA  GRANDE 

gush.  I  claimed  them  for  my  people.  I  pretended 
to  know  them  better  than  you  do."  There  was  a 
rueful  pucker  of  his  lips  as  he  spoke,  but  they  sud 
denly  tightened.  "They're  a  lot  of  doggone,  igno 
rant,  stupid  cattle!" 

"Here !  Here !"  called  Miller,  shaking  a  warning 
finger.  "You're  including  the  Clarks." 

"Oh,  damn  the  Clarks !"  Bailey  leaned  petulantly 
against  the  table,  and  turned  to  gaze  out  of  the  open 
front  door,  his  back  to  his  friend. 

"La  senorita  dam'  good  es-shooter,"  was  Manuel's 
sociable  warning. 

"You  stick  to  the  dishes!"  The  sheriff's  com 
mand  was  not  intended  to  be  brutal,  but  in  the  silence 
following  he  looked  up ;  resentment  was  on  the  face 
of  his  host,  mortification  on  the  face  of  the  cook. 
"I  didn't  mean  that,"  he  confessed,  rising  and  hold 
ing  out  his  hand  toward  Manuel.  "I'm  acting  like 
a  child.  Better  put  me  with  the  dogs." 

"Manuel  is  particular  about  the  dogs,"  remarked 
Miller,  good-naturedly.  "Sit  down.  Let's  finish. 
You  must  have  had  an  unusually  trying  experience 
this  morning." 


MY  SOUL  HAD  FAILED  ME  51 

Bailey  faced  the  ranchero,  and  dejectedly  ex 
plained  that  he  had  intimately  known  the  Clarks  for 
the  last  five  years.  He  had  eaten  there,  slept  there, 
advised  them  in  trouble,  rejoiced  with  them  in  pros 
perity.  Now,  because  he  must  do  his  duty,  Belle 
proposed  to  kick  him  out,  to  forget  the  past,  that 
meant  so  much  to  him. 

"Not  a  very  honourable  motive,"  observed  Miller, 
with  surprise. 

Bailey  again  hastily  corrected  himself.  "I  didn't 
mean  that.  The  girl  has  a  high  sense  of  honour ;  she 
believes  in  duty.  I  shouldn't  have  said  what  I  did. 
But  to  her  I  am  the  law.  If  I  execute  the  writ  of 
ejectment,  it  is  I  who  put  them  off,  not  the  law.  She 
don't  understand  how  a  man  can  be  a  friend  and  put 
them  off  their  home." 

"She'll  get  over  her  resentment,"  Miller  sooth 
ingly  remarked:  "She  may  remain  frigid  for  a 
few  months;  let  her.  She's  bound  to  respect 
you  the  more  for  having  done  a  disagreeable 
duty." 

"Disagreeable !  That's  not  the  word.  It's  alarm 
ing  ;  it  may  change  my  whole  future !" 


52  CASA  GRANDE 

"You're  the  greatest  fellow  to  borrow  trouble," 
lightly  replied  Miller. 

Bailey  absently  shook  his  head.  "You  wouldn't 
say  so  if  it  threatened  you  as  it  does  me." 

Miller  insisted  that  he  would  feel  the  same  under 
any  conditions.  There  was  no  prejudging  a  woman. 
Even  if  one  did  say  how  the  sex  might  act  under 
certain  circumstances,  who  could  guarantee  the  cir 
cumstances?  Then  there  was  the  item  of  personal 
regard;  it  could  not  be  sincere  if  it  called  for  the 
sacrifice  of  duty ;  it  could  not  exist  at  all. 

Bailey  waved  his  hand  disapprovingly,  and  re 
garded  his  host  with  silent  pity.  The  ranchero  evi 
dently  was  not  in  love. 

Miller  deliberated  for  some  time,  then  suggested 
a  solution  of  the  difficulty.  "Send  your  deputy  to 
execute  the  writ." 

"He's  too  hot-headed,"  objected  the  sheriff.  "He'd 
herd  them  off  like  so  many  cattle.  If  any  resisted, 
there'd  be  work  for  the  coroner." 

Miller  had  still  another  suggestion.  "Your  term 
expires  next  spring?"  Bailey  nodded.  "Let  your 
successor  put  them  off;  I  can  wait." 


MY  SOUL  HAD  FAILED  ME  53 

"Good  God,  man!"  said  the  sheriff,  rising  and 
shoving  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets.  "What  do 
you  take  me  for?"  His  sense  of  duty  was  strong 
again.  "You  can't  mean  it.  Besides,  I  want  another 
term." 

"I  didn't  think  you'd  wait,"  explained  the  host. 
"Still,  I  didn't  know  how  hard  you  are  hit." 

"Hard  enough,"  confessed  Bailey,  "but  not  hard 
enough  for  that.  I'll  be  all  right,  Miller."  The  vis 
itor  glanced  about  for  his  hat.  "I'm  going  to  put 
those  people  off  to-morrow — resolutely,  but  kindly. 
I  needed  to  talk  it  over  with  you,  though,  and  I  feel 
better.  I'm  ashamed  that  I  even  hesitated." 

"You're  disposed  to  worry,  Bailey,"  said  the 
ranchero.  "You  try  to  work  out  details  beforehand. 
What's  the  use?  Resolve  to  do  a  thing,  then  trust 
the  doing  of  it  for  the  details.  You  may  be  the  girl's 
husband  before  you're  ready  to  put  them  off;  who 
knows?  Marry  her.  There's  the  problem  solved!" 

The  sheriff  dolefully  shook  his  head.  "Do  you 
forget  that  it  takes  two  to  marry  ?  She's  a  curious 
one — head  full  of  moonshine  and  things." 

"What  you  would  call  romantic?"  asked  Miller. 


54  CASA  GRANDE 

"That's  the  word — romantic;  high  notions.  I 
sometimes  wonder  if  it  isn't  a  mistake,  her  being 
'way  out  in  the  backwoods." 

"The  more  reason  to  win  her,  Bailey,"  said  Miller, 
rising  and  laying  a  hand  on  his  guest's  shoulder. 
"Go  right  after  her ;  don't  wait.  You  can  only  fail, 
at  the  worst,  and  that's  no  disgrace,  if  you  preserve 
your  self-respect." 

"I  wish  I  had  your  even  temper!"  The  sheriff 
spoke  with  a  generous  enthusiasm  that  -embarrassed 
his  host  as  they  left  the  room. 

Near  the  door  opening  on  the  courtyard  the  two 
men  halted.  Manuel  had  filled  a  large  pan  with  rem 
nants  of  the  dinner  and  placed  it  on  the  floor  by  the 
stove.  The  dogs  ate  greedily,  the  stronger  ones  dis 
posed  to  intimidate  the  weaker;  but  the  cook  stood 
over  them,  a  long-handled  spoon  in  his  grasp,  and 
each  got  his  share  of  food 

"There,"  observed  Miller,  "is  a  lesson  in  govern 
ment.  Caesar,  the  big  hound,  is  a  surly  brute,  but 
he's  amenable  to  discipline." 

"I've  been  watching,"  guiltily  answered  the  vis 
itor.  "It's  not  the  only  lesson  Manuel  has  taught 


MY  SOUL  HAD  FAILED  ME  55 

me  to-day.  My  squatter  friends  may  need  thwack 
ing,  too ;  I'll  put  an  iron  spoon  up  my  sleeve." 

"If  you  could  only  use  it  on  all  of  them !"  The 
ranchero  spoke  fervently. 

Bailey  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"That  graceful  lady  over  there,"  was  the  answer, 
with  a  gesture  in  the  direction  of  Dry  Creek.  "You 
can't  fight  her  with  iron  spoons,  nor  with  shotguns. 
And  the  battle  '11  not  be  to  the  strong  alone." 

The  sheriff  smiled  sceptically  and  put  on  his  hat. 
"Think  of  me,  old  man,  about  this  time  to-morrow." 

"God  bless  and  guide  you,"  cheerily  replied  Miller. 
"You'll  do  what's  right.  I'd  ride  over  if  I  could 
Help  you." 

"Don't,"  seriously  objected  Bailey,  stepping  out  of 
the  door.  "Look,"  he  called,  pointing  upward.  "A 
storm's  coming.  I'll  have  to  ride  fast  if  I  get  to 
town  dry." 

"Take  a  poncho,"  urged  Miller,  turning  to  the 
rain-clothing  on  the  wall. 

"No,"  replied  Bailey;  "I  have  one  tied  to  my 
saddle." 

"Look  out,  MeestaH  es-Sam,  for  la  senorita,"  ban- 


56  CASA  GRANDE 

teringly  called  Manuel  after  the  men  going  through 
the  court.  He  wanted  to  show  that  he  harboured  no 
resentment  for  the  guest's  curt  speech  to  him. 
"Es-she  dam'  good  es-shooter." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  old  owl,"  retorted  Bailey,  in  the 
same  spirit ;  "I'll  send  you  next  time !" 

The  sun  made  a  sudden  rent  in  the  clouds  and 
drenched  the  earth  with  cheerfulness,  even  as  the 
resolution  to  do  his  duty  at  whatever  cost  had 
lighted  the  sheriff's  soul. 


CHAPTER  IV 
GO  THY  WAY  FORTH 

IT  rained  the  night  of  Bailey's  visit  to  Casa 
Grande.  Next  morning  the  sky  was  still  cloudy, 
with  occasional  showers  followed  by  sunshine.  Bud 
ding  trees  sparkled  with  dripping  brilliants,  and 
meadowlarks  flocked  in  Dry  Creek  pastures. 

The  way  down  hill  to  the  turbulent  stream  was 
slippery,  and  a  cavalcade  of  horsemen  headed  by  the 
sheriff  rode  slowly  into  the  valley.  They  were  an 
odd-looking,  funereal  company,  each  man  wearing 
a  black  waterproof  or  poncho,  which  concealed  under 
its  ample  covering  the  weapons  of  the  wearer,  as 
well  as  the  saddle  and  much  of  the  horse. 

At  the  Clark  gate  the  posse  was  halted,  and  Bailey 
dismounted,  exposing  a  rifle  swung  to  his  saddle 
under  the  left  stirrup.  Without  removing  his  poncho, 
he  quietly  walked  to  the  house  and  called  to  Belle, 

57 


58  CASA  GRANDE 

who  came  out  with  some  sewing,  an  occupation  so 
unusual  in  the  daytime  that  the  caller  stared. 

The  girl,  with  a  swift  glance,  took  in  her  sur 
roundings — the  horsemen,  the  sombre  capes,  the  rifle 
swung  to  the  empty  saddle. 

"What's  under  you-all's  ponchos  ?"  was  her  greet 
ing. 

He  drew  back  the  skirt  of  his  garment,  and 
watched  her  with  a  smile  belying  his  anxiety. 

When  she  beheld  pistols  strapped  about  his  waist 
a  flutter  came  in  her  throat  and  her  face  grew 
wax-like.  As  soon  as  she  found  voice  she  asked, 
thickly : 

"What  're  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"What  I  said  yesterday — put  you  off." 

The  fingers  she  laid  on  the  porch-rail  trembled, 
and  her  eyes  blazed  at  the  man's  easy  manner.  "You 
put  us  off!"  Her  voice  was  low  and  tense.  "You 
coward!  You  sneak!  Sold  out  to  that  land- 
grabber " 

"Belle,  Belle!"  he  cried. 

At  the  reproach  and  suffering  of  his  tone  there 
awoke  in  her  the  primitive  feminine  impulse,  when 


GO  THY  WAY  FORTH  59 

dominating  the  stronger  sex,  to  torture  and  humble, 
and  she  tauntingly  called  to  him : 

"Put  us  off!    Try  it!" 

The  sheriff  sorrowfully  regarded  the  girl.  He 
forgave  the  cruel  things  she  had  spoken,  for  he  real 
ised  that  the  apprehension  and  resentment  of  weeks 
had  found  vent  in  her  outburst.  But  he  had  resolved 
to  do  his  duty  at  any  cost,  and  his  one  concern  now 
was  to  do  it  without  a  tragedy.  He  walked  closer 
to  the  porch  and,  lowering  his  voice,  gently  said : 

"You  must  go,  Belle.  It's  the  order  of  the  court. 
If  I  don't  put  you  off,  some  one  else  will.  Get  out 
quietly." 

"Never  alive,"  wilfully  declared  the  girl,  backing 
against  the  house. 

Her  mother  and  brothers  joined  her  and  looked 
questioningly  at  the  sheriff  and  his  posse. 

"I've  come  to  dispossess  the  settlers,"  said  Bailey, 
trying  to  speak  lightly. 

"Why  didn't  you  fetch  some  men?"  sullenly  asked 
Tom. 

"There's  enough,  I  guess,"  answered  Bailey.  "I 
want  you-all  to  know  I  came  on  business." 


6o  CASA  GRANDE 

He  was  the  sheriff  now,  and  while  parleying  his 
mind  had  worked  rapidly.  He  saw  that  it  would  not 
be  difficult,  if  the  family  attempted  to  resist,  to  en 
gage  them  in  a  discussion  of  their  rights  on  the  front 
porch  while  four  or  five  of  his  men  went  in  at  the 
rear  and  disarmed  the  occupants.  Once  he  had  their 
weapons,  the  rest  would  be  easy. 

"Go  on  and  pack,  honey,"  he  said,  at  last.  "I'll 
take  my  men  up  to  the  farthest  settler  inside  the 
grant  line  and  work  down  this  way.  That'll  give 
you  three  or  four  hours." 

She  saw  the  appeal  in  his  look — all  the  tenderness 
he  felt  for  her.  She  saw,  also,  resolution,  determi 
nation,  almost  cruelty.  It  was  a  new  view  of  his 
character,  one  that  never  before  had  been  disclosed, 
and  it  satisfied  her  that  he  would  not  change  his  pur 
pose  even  for  her. 

She  came  forward  and  wound  her  arm  about  a 
post  of  the  porch.  "You  may  put  us  off,  Sam.  We 
can't  help  it.  But  there'll  be  empty  saddles  in  your 
crowd  when  you  do !" 

"Go  on  and  pack  up,  I  tell  you,"  lightly  repeated 
the  sheriff,  motioning  swiftly  two  or  three  times  at 


GO  THY  WAY  FORTH  61 

her,  as  if  to  drive  her  into  the  house.  "This  isn't 
the  end  of  the  world !  There  '11  be  other  days,  Belle, 
and  you-all  will  be  cared  for.  There's  other  land 
right  in  this  county." 

The  posse  moved  up  the  valley,  and  their  leader 
smiled  again.  Belle  would  fight  with  a  shotgun  if 
she  fought  at  all,  but  he  now  was  satisfied  that  the 
family  would  get  out  peaceably.  Again  the  melody 
of  larks  sounded  clamorous,  and  from  brushy  hid 
ing-places  came  the  quidado  of  quail.  At  one  mo 
ment  the  sun  blazed  fiercely ;  at  the  next  it  was  hid 
den  by  clouds.  Through  sunshine  or  shadow  the 
bird-songs  continued  as  if  life-tragedies  never  could 
enter  this  little  Eden.  As  the  horsemen  advanced 
the  larks  would  perch  by  the  roadside  and  whistle, 
bobbing  their  heads,  twitching  their  tails  and  flaunt 
ing  bright  yellow  bibs.  When  the  invaders  came 
closer  the  birds  rose  and  flew  ahead  a  few  hundred 
feet,  like  winged  skirmishers  preceding  the  little 
body  of  policemen. 

As  soon  as  the  sheriff's  company  halted,  ponchos 
and  coats  were  fastened  behind  the  saddles.  The 
men  went  at  their  task  earnestly,  and  one  by 


62  CASA  GRANDE 

one  the  squatters  accepted  the  inevitable.  It  is  easy 
for  law-breakers  to  noisily  talk  of  rights  and  how  to 
maintain  them ;  it  is  quite  different  to  defy  the  armed 
authority  of  the  Commonwealth  invading  those 
rights.  No  sooner  had  the  sheriff  this  morning 
crossed  the  babbling  stream  at  the  foot  of  the  grade 
leading1  into  the  valley  than  the  settlement  was  ap 
prised  of  the  fact.  That  the  officer  had  brought  with 
him  nearly  a  score  of  men  was  enough  for  the  people 
he  had  been  directed  to  remove,  and  they  at  once 
accepted  the  alternative.  Under  most  conditions  life 
and  liberty  are  sweeter  than  life  and  imprisonment. 
Before  the  afternoon  had  worn  half  away  a  ma 
jority  of  the  squatters  loaded  their  wagons  with 
belongings  easiest  moved  and  drove  out  from  the 
valley,  or  located  on  some  new  claim  already  selected 
against  such  an  emergency,  beyond  the  grant  lines. 
A  body  of  twenty  men  entering  each  dwelling  and 
door-yard  made  quick  work  of  the  packing,  and  the 
first  heat  of  squatter  resentment  over,  it  was  curious 
to  watch  the  prevailing  harmony.  Officers  of  the 
court  and  squatters  belonged  to  the  same  class.  All 
were  primitive,  unsordid,  and  disinclined  to  monoto- 


GO  THY  WAY  FORTH  63 

nous  labour, yet  untiring  if  their  task  involved  excite 
ment.  All  were  shrewd  in  a  certain  way,  yet  pre 
serving  a  childlike  faith  in  life.  Energetic  neigh 
bours  classed  such  characters  as  indolent,  even  shift 
less,  but  it  was  their  simplicity  that  made  them  con 
tent  with  bare  necessities,  if  they  could  but  revel  in 
the  luxury  of  almost  savage  freedom. 

At  last  all  the  squatters  had  been  removed  except ' 
the  Clarks.  The  afternoon  was  hot,  the  sky  cloud 
less,  and  bird-notes  hushed  to  an  occasional  twitter 
ing.  The  water  in  the  creek  still  rippled,  but  more 
drowsily  now  that  the  rain  had  ceased.  The  posse 
halted  at  the  enclosure  surrounding  the  home  of  the 
fatherless  family.  Barricades  had  been  placed  at  the 
gateway  and  over  doors  and  windows.  When  the 
men  saw  what  was  done  they  fingered  the  pistols  at 
their  waists  and  unslung  their  rifles,  standing  them 
against  the  fence.  Bailey,  as  he  fastened  his  mount, 
deprecated  the  action  of  his  associates,  and  stated 
that  he  considered  their  precautions  unnecessary. 
He  hung  his  own  belt  and  pistols  over  the  horn  of 
his  heavy  saddle. 

The   sheriff   cheerfully  proceeded   alone   to   the 


64  CASA  GRANDE 

house.  The  warlike  appearance  amused  him,  and 
all  question  of  how  Belle  intended  to  fight  was  de 
cided  by  the  barricading.  Miller  was  wrong  for 
once,  and  the  intimate  friend  of  the  family  right. 
The  girl  was  sufficiently  undeveloped  and  masculine 
to  battle  like  a  man,  which  made  the  officer's  duty 
easier.  He  unwound  the  rawhide  thongs  that  fas 
tened  the  higher  bars  and  stepped  over  the  lower 
into  the  yard. 

A  distant  horseman  stood  beside  his  mount  in  the 
shadow  of  an  oak  where  the  road  begins  its  descent 
into  Dry  Creek.  No  one,  as  yet,  had  observed  him. 
and  from  his  manner  he  had  sought  to  avoid  notice. 
A  restless  impulse  stronger  than  curiosity  led  the 
master  of  Casa  Grande  to  this  point,  where  he  had 
arrived  at  the  time  the  posse  halted.  He,  too,  had 
seen  the  barricaded  doors  and  windows,  the  prepara 
tions  of  the  men,  and  his  heart  throbbed  anxiously. 
He  felt  from  the  beginning  that  the  two  women 
would  be  safe  from  violence  at  the  sheriff's  hands, 
but  the  actions  of  the  posse  were  threatening.  It 
was  a  relief,  therefore,  to  see  their  leader  proceed 
alone  to  the  dwelling. 


GO  THY  WAY  FORTH  65 

The  relief  was  but  momentary;  before  the  officer 
was  halfway  to  the  house  a  shot  cracked.  His  men 
caught  their  rifles  and  ran  toward  him.  He  mo 
tioned  them  back,  unfastened  the  white  kerchief 
about  his  throat,  waved  it,  and  advanced  again.  A 
second  time  a  rifle  was  discharged,  and  the  bullet 
whirred  close  to  his  head.  The  alert,  expectant  atti 
tude  of  the  men  was  ignored  by  their  leader,  who 
paused  a  moment  to  deliberate.  He  perceived,  at 
last,  why  the  inmates  of  the  house  persisted  in  shoot 
ing1.  Belle  had  stated  that  she  would  not  leave  the 
place  alive.  Was  she  inviting  destruction  ?  The  in 
stinctive  resentment  of  a  man  against  the  folly  of 
a  woman  who  is  dear  to  him  roused  in  Bailey  a 
desire  to  use  the  rod  on  Belle.  He  turned  to 
the  woodpile,  shouldered  an  axe,  and  wrathfully 
advanced  on  the  barricaded  entrance,  convinced 
that  the  demonstration  against  him  was  simply 
a  bluff. 

As  the  man  on  the  hill  was  wondering  at  the  rash 
ness  of  the  man  in  the  door-yard,  there  came  a  puff 
of  smoke,  a  report,  and  Bailey  staggered  and  went 
down.  He  was  up  again  immediately,  Belle  at  his 


66  CASA  GRANDE 

side  almost  as  soon  as  he  rose,  but  his  left  arm  hung 
useless. 

At  the  sheriff's  fall  his  comrades,  ready  for  action, 
swarmed  into  the  door-yard,  but  when  the  girl  ran 
out  most  of  them  respectfully  held  back,  only  the 
deputy  and  one  or  two  of  the  more  intimate  ad 
vancing.  The  girl  stared  shrinkingly  at  his  wounded 
limb,  a  crimson  splotch  on  the  sleeve  spreading 
wider.  Only  a  moment  did  she  hesitate,  then  has 
tened  into  the  house  and  called  for  water  and  ban 
dages. 

Bailey's  companions  urged  him  to  ride  at  once  to 
town  to  have  the  wound  dressed ;  they  would  follow 
with  the  rebellious  family.  He  stood  resolute,  how 
ever,  and  waited  for  Belle. 

She  quickly  returned,  prepared  to  bind  his  hurt, 
Her  mother  and  Wash  following.  "What  have  I 
done!"  she  brokenly  exclaimed.  "What  have  I  done!" 

When  the  sheriff  was  comfortably  seated  on  the 
porch  she  rolled  up  his  sleeve.  The  bullet  had  severed 
an  artery,  and  the  pulsating  crimson  jet  terrified  her, 
for  she  knew  that  he  might  die  unless  the  flow  were 
checked. 


GO  THY  WAY  FORTH  67 

"I  don't  know  how  to  stop  it,"  she  said,  her  hand 
clasped  over  the  place. 

He  directed  her  to  twist  a  tourniquet  above  the 
wound,  and  the  bleeding  quickly  ceased. 

The  men  gathered  about  their  leader,  ready  with 
rough  services  and  eager  to  advise,  but  none  more 
skilful  than  the  girl  and  her  mother,  who  tightly 
bandaged  the  arm  with  many  folds  of  cloth. 

Belle  waited  a  moment  to  glance  at  the  patient. 
His  face  was  ghastly,  and  he  strove  to  hide  his  suf 
fering  under  a  smile,  but  the  sweat  on  his  brow  and 
the  glitter  of  his  eyes  betrayed  him. 

"Oh,  Sam,"  she  cried,  "this  is  terrible!  I'm  kill 
ing  you !" 

He  shifted  toward  a  column  of  the  porch,  his  body 
dizzily  swaying,  but  he  resolutely  braced  himself 
against  the  support  and  told  her  to  finish  the  ban 
daging. 

She  had  fastened  the  ends  of  the  cloth,  when 
Miller  came  up.  His  face  was  very  grave,  and  as  soon 
as  he  saw  a  crimson  stain  slowly  saturating  the  ban 
dage,  the  tourniquet  above  it,  his  expression  changed 
to  anxiety. 


68  CASA  GRANDE 

"How  badly  are  you  hurt?"  he  asked  Bailey,  who 
was  supporting  the  wounded  arm  with  his  sound 
one. 

"Not  so  bad." 

"Any  bones  broken?" 

"Perhaps." 

Miller  asked  the  meaning  of  the  tourniquet  and 
the  stain  in  the  bandage. 

"An  artery's  cut." 

"This  won't  do,  old  man,"  kindly  protested  Miller. 
"You're  in  no  condition  to  stand  the  trip  to  town. 
The  tourniquet  is  too  tight.  Your  hand  is  turning 
black." 

"It'll  go,"  irritably  declared  Bailey.  The  ran- 
chero's  presence  nettled  him,  now  that  he  was 
wounded. 

Miller  insisted  that  it  would  be  folly  to  ride  to 
Santa  Rosa  with  his  arm  in  that  condition.  "Let 
me  tie  up  the  artery  and  put  a  splint  on  the  arm. 
I've  had  some  experience." 

Belle,  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  made  room  for  the 
newcomer.  The  strain  was  telling  on  her. 

Bailey  weakly  objected,  however,  but  before  he 


GO  THY  WAY  FORTH  69 

knew  it  Miller  had  unwound  the  bandage  and  loos 
ened  the  tourniquet.  The  ranchero  took  from  his 
pocket  a  farrier's  knife,  and  drew  out  of  the  heavy 
bone  handle  a  pair  of  pincers,  with  which  he  caught 
the  end  of  the  artery,  and  asked  Belle  to  fetch  some 
thread  and  tie  it. 

The  air  was  still  warm,  but  Bailey's  teeth  chat 
tered  in  spite  of  his  effort  to  prevent  them.  When 
the  girl  attempted  to  fasten  the  thread  about  the 
blood-vessel  her  hands  suddenly  dropped.  Miller 
glanced  up ;  her  face  was  colourless,with  a  look  about 
the  lips  as  of  one  ready  to  swoon. 

He  flung  an  arm  about  her  and  sharply  asked  if 
she  was  going  to  faint. 

His  clasp  roused  her,  and  she  resolutely  drew 
away  from  him.  "No,  I'm  not,"  she  answered,  and 
tied  the  knot. 

Once  again  they  washed  the  wound  and  dressed 
it  with  simple  liniments  of  the  household  and  bound 
it  up,  a  splint  along  the  fractured  bone.  They  worked 
silently  and  swiftly,  for  the  sheriff's  breath  came 
short  and  the  sweat  stood  on  his  face.  Belle  mo 
tioned  her  mother  to  the  place  beside  Miller,  then 


70  CASA  GRANDE 

took  a  handkerchief  and  wiped  the  sufferer's  brow, 
her  arm  round  his  broad  shoulders.  The  sheriff's 
drawn  lips  curved,  his  breath  came  deeper,  and  all 
at  once  life's  bitter  regrets  had  vanished. 

Belle  thus  held  the  patient,  unconscious  of  the  men 
about  her.  Miller  was  not  a  little  pleased  at  her  atti 
tude,  which  meant  so  much  to  Bailey,  although  little 
more  to  her  than  an  act  of  friendship,  the  impulse 
of  a  generous  nature.  She,  however,  could  not  keep 
her  glance  from  Miller's  hands,  so  deftly  and  firmly 
did  he  use  his  ringers.  She  noticed  that  they  were 
shapely  and  well-kept,  in  spite  of  signs  of  toil.  They 
expressed  strength  and  resolution,  which  she  felt 
were  elements  of  his  character. 

Even  Bailey  was  attracted  by  his  friend's  skill. 
"Where  did  you  learn  to  do  this  ?"  he  asked. 

Miller  softly  laughed.  "I  don't  know  much.  I've 
sometimes  helped  a  surgeon  of  the  army — we 
crossed  the  continent  together.  He's  a  connection 
by  marriage — Dr.  Payne,  of  the  San  Francisco 
Presidio." 

Bailey  nodded  approval.  He  remarked  that  al 
ready  he  felt  easier. 


GO  THY  WAY  FORTH  71 

Miller  called  to  Wash,  and  asked  him  to  take 
Peggy,  go  to  Casa  Grande,  and  hitch  to  his  light 
wagon  the  horse  in  the  stable  there,  and  come  right 
back,  so  Mr.  Bailey  could  reach  town  quicker  and 
more  comfortably  than  in  the  saddle. 

"No,  you  don't,"  objected  the  sheriff.  "I'm  going 
back  the  way  I  came — with  my  men." 

"But,  Bailey " 

"Enough  said,  Miller.  I  want  Wash  to  hitch'  up 
his  own  rig.  I  must  take  the  family  with  me." 

"What  for?"  cried  Belle. 

"Pack  up  the  few  things  you'll  need  for  a  day  or 
two's  stay  in  town,"  firmly  answered  Bailey,  rising. 

"Sam!  No.  We'll  do  anything  you  ask.  Not 
that."  A  new  dread  made  the  girl  speak  sharply, 
and  she  trembled. 

"The  sheriff  must  do  his  duty,"  Bailey  sadly  re 
plied.  "There's  no  other  way." 

Miller  was  startled  at  the  turn  of  affairs.  He  now 
realised  that  the  Clarks  were  at  least  in  contempt  of 
court,  perhaps  criminally  liable.  It  would  not  do 
for  the  sheriff  to  temporise  with  them,  especially  on 
the  eve  of  his  campaign  for  re-election. 


72  CASA  GRANDE 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  the  ranchero.  "We  can 
bail  them  out,  and  they  can  come  back  here  and  stay 
till  they  have  made  arrangements  to  move." 

"We  want  no  favours  from  him,"  said  Belle  to  the 
sheriff.  "We'd  rather  go  to  jail." 

Bailey  was  pleased  at  the  girl's  resentment,  and 
kindly  declined  Miller's  offer.  He  said  it  would  be 
too  late  for  bail  that  night,  and  he  would  put  them 
in  the  hotel,  anyway. 

An  awkward  silence  fell  on  the  group,  and  Miller 
saw  that  he  was  no  longer  needed.  "Can  I  do  any 
thing?"  he  asked. 

"No,  Miller ;  we'll  get  on  very  well  now." 

The  group  in  the  door-yard  watched  the  ranchero 
ride  away.  Above  the  quiet  rushing  of  the  creek 
sounded  the  patter  of  Peggy's  hoofs  until  she  had 
forded  the  stream ;  then  the  watchers  dispersed. 

"Any  one  could  ride  well  on  such  a  horse,"  re 
marked  Belle  to  Bailey.  "The  mare  takes  the  trail 
like  a  bird." 

Bailey  sighed  and  moved  away.  She  spoke  of  the 
mare,  but  he  knew  her  thoughts  were  following  the 
rider. 


CHAPTER  V 
AMONG  THORNS 

THE  Clarks  went, under  arrest,  with  the  wounded 
leader  and  the  posse  to  Santa  Rosa.  It  was  a 
tedious  and  distressful  journey,  owing  to  the  sher 
iff's  suffering,  which  grew  more  acute  the  farther 
he  rode. 

When  the  party  reached  town  the  prisoners  were 
quartered  at  the  hotel,  and  Bailey  hastened  to  the 
doctor's,  where  the  wounded  man  was  put  to  bed. 
His  arm  had  been  crudely  bandaged,  and  the  long 
trip  increased  the  customary  inflammation  until  the 
place  was  so  badly  swelled  that  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  the  condition  of  the  fractured  bone. 

In  the  morning  fever  developed,  and  before  even 
ing  the  sheriff  was  slightly  delirious.  During  the 
next  two  days  these  disturbing  symptoms  continued, 
and  no  one  was  allowed  to  talk  business  with  the  pa- 

73 


74  CASA  GRANDE 

tient,  who  lay  passive  and  indifferent  from  heavy 
doses  of  opium. 

On  the  third  morning,  after  a  family  conference, 
it  was  decided  that  Bailey  must  be  paying  their  ex 
penses  at  the  hotel,  which  amounted  to  at  least  ten 
dollars  a  day — an  extravagant  courtesy. 

"I  don't  see  why  we  should  take  his  money,"  Belle 
considerately  remarked.  "It  may  be  days  before  we 
can  get  away ;  let's  go  to  jail.  If  the  court  wants  to 
punish  us  for  defending  our  rights,  the  county  must 
take  care  of  us !" 

Mrs.  Clark  demurred,  for  they  always  had  been 
good  people,  never  before  getting  in  the  grip  of  the 
law.  She  wavered  between  the  disgrace  of  impris 
onment  and  the  humiliation  of  accepting  charity — 
the  one  quite  as  repugnant  as  the  other  to  their  inde 
pendent  natures. 

"It's  no  disgrace  to  go  to  jail,  maw,  for  what 
we've  done,"  insisted  Belle.  "I'll  die  before  I  admit 
that  we  did  wrong." 

"We  shot  the  sheriff,"  protested  Mrs.  Clark,  who 
was  not  endowed  with  the  martyr-like  disposition 
of  her  daughter. 


AMONG  THORNS  75 

"The  sheriff  had  no  right  to  come  in  our  house. 
Father  always  said  that  an  American  could  keep 
any  one  out  of  his  home,  even  if  he  must  shoot  to 
do  it." 

So  it  was  arranged  for  the  family  by  the  deputy 
sheriff,  without  consulting  his  principal,  and  before 
night  they  were  imprisoned  on  a  charge  of  attempt 
ing  to  murder  an  officer  of  court.  The  subordinate 
official  was  guided  by  his  own  idea  of  the  indignity 
done  his  superior,  and  supposed  that  the  wounded 
man  felt  about  the  crime  as  he  himself  felt.  The 
judge,  sharing  the  prejudice  of  the  deputy,  fixed  the 
prisoners'  bail  at  fifty  thousand  dollars. 

The  sheriff  raged  when  he  learned  what  his  deputy 
had  done — the  very  thing  he  had  been  anxious  to 
prevent;  but  matters  could  not  be  bettered  until  he 
was  in  condition  to  attend  in  person  to  the  business. 

When  Bailey  was  well  enough  to  appear  before 
the  court  and  ask  a  reduction  of  the  prisoners'  bail, 
the  judge,  old  and  peevish,  stubbornly  refused,  for 
the  sheriff's  face  still  told  of  physical  suffering,  and 
his  arm  carried  in  a  sling  was  an  unimpeachable  wit 
ness  that  a  crime  had  been  attempted  on  him.  There 


76  CASA  GRANDE 

was  no  alternative,  then,  but  to  find  bail  in  the 
amount  originally  fixed. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  Bailey  had  secured  only  ten 
thousand  dollars  of  the  bond.  He  was  asking  his 
friends  to  go  surety  for  an  unknown  family  who 
had  resisted  a  process  of  court.  There  was  not  even 
a  vote  among  them,  and  everywhere  he  was  met 
with  the  question  why  he  interested  himself  in 
getting  bail.  The  real  reason  could  not  be  given 
unless  he  confessed  that  he  hoped  to  make  Belle  his 
wife. 

The  prospect  of  making  the  girl  his  wife  had 
grown  very  shadowy  since  his  wounding,  for  had 
she  sincerely  loved  him  she  could  not  have  shot  him. 
He  did  not  reason  it  out,  but  the  depression  of  all 
the  succeeding  days  resulted  from  the  unconscious 
perception  of  this  truth,  and  at  the  end  of  the  second 
week  he  was  in  greater  perplexity  than  ever. 

To  add  to  his  depression,  confinement  was  begin 
ning  to  tell  on  Belle.  The  entire  family  had  rather 
enjoyed  the  first  two  or  three  days  of  enforced  idle 
ness.  Mrs.  Clark  declared  that  it  was  the  only  time 
since  she  was  born  that  she  had  been  rested.  Belle 


AMONG  THORNS  77 

had  been  under  a  severe  strain  the  day  they  were  dis 
possessed,  and  rest  and  seclusion  were  what  she 
needed.  But  the  end  of  the  week  found  them  ready 
for  action  once  more,  which  meant  liberty.  The 
end  of  the  second  week  found  them  fretful,  with 
evident  signs  of  pining  in  Belle. 

Another  consultation  was  now  held,  at  which  the 
sheriff  was  chief  advocate.  He  proposed  to  ask 
Miller  to  furnish  the  balance  of  the  surety,  which 
Belle  vetoed  at  once.  Again  she  was  ready  to  die 
rather  than  accept  a  favour  from  that  man.  She 
dominated  the  family,  not  because  of  wilfulness,  but 
because  of  her  good  sense  and  unselfishness ;  and  all 
yielded  to  her  objection  against  accepting  Miller's 
assistance  because  she  was  so  determined,  although 
none  fully  shared  her  sentiments. 

The  third  week  passed,  Belle  growing  more 
droopy  in  spite  of  her  effort  not  to  show  it,  and  the 
others  more  restless.  Bailey  had  arranged  from  the 
first  to  make  Wash  a  messenger  in  the  sheriff's 
office,  thus  giving  the  boy  the  liberties  of  a  "trusty." 
His  duties  brought  him  often  into  the  courtroom, 
and  his  absorbed  interest  in  the  cases  on  trial  at- 


78  CASA  GRANDE 

traded  the  notice  of  the  Judge,  who,  with  all  his 
crustiness,  felt  kindly  toward  young  people. 

One  day,  when  the  courtroom  was  empty,  the 
Judge  and  the  boy  had  a  long  talk  together  begin 
ning  by  His  Honour  asking  if  Wash  would  like  to  be 
a  lawyer.  The  old  man  read  promise  in  the  lad,  his 
frank  ingenuousness,  his  keenly  inquiring  intellect; 
it  carried  him  back  to  his  own  youth,  quite  as  humble 
as  that  of  this  offspring  of  the  hills.  When  he  had 
learned  the  family  history,  he  finished  by  telling 
Wash  that  he  had  concluded  to  reduce  their  bail. 

The  principal  diversion  of  the  family  was  Bailey's 
visits  and  the  boy's  accounts  of  his  daily  experiences. 
The  interview  with  the  Judge  was  of  absorbing  in 
terest  to  them  all,  and  Wash  minutely  recounted  it, 
not  a  little  pleased  at  his  own  importance. 

"When  he  asked  me,"  said  Wash,  "if  I  wanted  to 
be  a  lawyer,  I  told  him  I'd  rather  be  a  ranchero  like 
Mr.  Miller  and  raise  fine  cattle  and  horses.  The 
Judge  looked  funny,  and  said  that  Mr.  Miller  is  an 
unusual  man,  typical  of  the  South,  and  if  he  gave  the 
same  attention  to  making  money  as  to  raising  stock 
he  would  be  rich." 


AMONG  THORNS  79 

"You  and  the  Judge  must  be  pretty  thick,"  inter 
jected  Tom.  "What  does  he  know  about  Miller, 
anyway  ?" 

"They're  good  friends,"  replied  Wash.  "He  goes 
every  year  to  Casa  Grande  to  fish  and  hunt — two  or 
three  times.  He  said  it  is  a  charming  place  to  visit, 
and  it  made  him  mad  because  the  squatters  bothered 
the  ranchero." 

"I  suppose  that's  the  reason  he  piled  on  our  bail," 
growled  Tom. 

"Just  wait  till  I  get  through,"  said  Wash.  "I 
told  the  Judge  that  we  had  lived  eight  years  on  our 
place,  spent  lots  of  money  in  improving  it,  and  I 
asked  him  if  he  thought  it  fair  for  the  Government 
to  come  in  at  this  late  time  and  put  us  off.  He  said 
the  Government  never  had  owned  the  Mexican 
grants ;  simply  held  them  in  trust  for  the  ones  that 
country  had  given  them  to.  But  I  argued  that  the 
Government,  in  that  case,  never  should  have  let  us 
go  on  the  land ;  should  have  given  notice  it  was  not 
public  domain." 

"Whew !"  exclaimed  Belle.  "What  big  words  we 
use  when  we  talk  to  judges !" 


8o  CASA  GRANDE 

"I'll  bet  I've  learned  more  than  a  hundred  big 
words  since  we  came  here." 

"Now,  Washie,  don't  you  get  saucy." 

"You  le'  me  'lone,"  replied  the  boy,  forgetting  his 
pedantic  phrases.  "You  use  big  words  yourself. 
The  other  day,  after  Mr.  Miller " 

From  out  the  tussle  on  the  floor  Wash's  voice 
good-naturedly  called,  "Ma!" 

"Oh,  dear,"  complained  the  widow,  "I'll  be  glad 
when  you  children  get  out  of  here." 

"Go  on  with  your  story,  Wash,"  said  Belle,  when 
order  had  been  restored. 

"The  Judge  said  I'd  make  a  lawyer,  because  I  had 
given  good  reason  why  we  never  should  have  been 
allowed  on  that  land.  He  said  any  other  landlord 
would  have  to  keep  off  trespassers,  or  lose  his  lands 
after  a  certain  number  of  years  of  adverse  posses 
sion,  but  the  American  people  required  each  settler 
to  prove  that  he  had  a  right  to  enter  vacant  lands. 
'Suppose  he  can't?'  said  I.  'Then  he'd  better  keep 
off/  said  he;  'and  when  a  court  has  decided  that 
the  land  is  not  the  settler's,  he  must  move  off  at 


AMONG  THORNS  81 

"It's  easy  to  see  that  every  one  in  this  town  is 
against  the  settlers/'  said  Belle.  "We'll  never  get 
out  on  bail." 

"We  may,"  hopefully  declared  Wash.  "The  Judge 
and  I  talked  about  bail  and  the  sheriff  and  Mr. 
Miller.  I  told  him  that  Sam  is  our  friend,  and  we 
didn't  intend  to  hurt  him  that  day — just  wanted  him 
to  keep  away.  I  even  told  him  that  Mr.  Miller  had 
offered  to  go  with  us  that  night  and  bail  us  out.  He 
asked  me  how  long  we  had  known  the  sheriff,  and  if 
he  came  often  to  see  us.  When  I  told  him,  he  said, 
'H'm,'  and  pulled  his  beard.  He  asked  if  Mr.  Miller 
came  to " 

The  boy  did  not  finish.  His  sister  went  swiftly  to 
him  and  flung.an  arm  about  him.  "Don't  you  know, 
Wash,  you  mustn't  talk  about  those  things?" 

"But,  sis,  he  asked  me.  He  won't  tell.  When 
he  wanted  to  know  about  you,  I  told  him  there  isn't 
a  prettier  nor  a  smarter  girl  in  this  county.  Then 
he  went  to  a  window  and  stood  a  long  time  looking 
out.  I  thought  he  was  through,  and  I  tiptoed  away ; 
but  he  called  me  back,  and  said  he  would  reduce  our 
bail  to  five  thousand  dollars  each,  and  if  Mr.  Miller 


82  CASA  GRANDE 

would  go  on  our  bond  the  court  would  require  no 
other  surety.  So  there!" 

The  other  members  of  the  family  looked  at  the 
girl.  In  the  dim  light  she  scarcely  could  see  the 
appeal  in  their  glances,  but  she  felt  it  in  their  man 
ner.  "Let's  think  about  it,"  she  kindly  suggested. 

Wash  felt  his  spirits  rise,  and  immediately  told 
the  sheriff  of  Belle's  decision.  Bailey  met  the  Judge 
waiting  for  the  mail,  and  found  that  Wash  had  cor 
rectly  reported  his  decision.  The  official  put  the 
boy  on  a  saddle-horse  and  posted  him  off  to  Miller 
with  a  note. 

Early  next  morning  the  ranchero  came  to  town, 
Wash  with  him,  prepared  to  secure  liberty  for  the 
Clarks.  Belle  would  not  thank  him  for  his  kind 
ness,  but  explained  that  she  was  willing  to  accept  for 
the  sake  of  the  others.  She  herself  would  die  before 
she  would  ask  any  one  to  bail  her  out. 

Miller  assured  her  it  was  his  friendship  for 
Bailey  that  prompted  his  action ;  she  need  feel  under 
obligation  to  no  one  but  the  sheriff. 

In  the  courtroom,  when  the  party  appeared  to 
arrange  the  bail,  His  Honour  admonished  the  Clarks 


AMONG  THORNS  83 

that  he  accepted  Mr.  Miller  as  their  surety  since  he 
had  learned  that  the  ranchero  harboured  no  resent 
ment  against  them,  and  now  they  would  be  account 
able  to  their  neighbour  for  good  behaviour.  As  Mr. 
Bailey  did  not  choose  to  prosecute  them  for  assault 
ing  him,  the  charge  against  them  would  rest  for  the 
present,  to  be  revived  whenever  they  should  become 
unruly.  The  old  jurist  called  Belle  to  his  side  and 
kindly  took  her  hand,  which  he  studied,  then  softly 
clasped  it. 

"There  are  three  kinds  of  women  in  this  world, 
young  lady:  the  few  feminine;  a  greater  number 
mannish;  the  great  majority  ordinary.  You'll  never 
be  ordinary.  I  thought  when  you  first  came  before 
me  that  you  were  mannish — and  with  your  face! 
But  this  hand — it  is  strong  and  friendly;  your  eyes 
and  lips — they  are  my  own  mother's.  .  .  ." 

The  fatherless  girl  flung  herself  down,  her  head 
on  his  knee,  her  hand  gripping  his.  He  clasped  her 
quivering  body  with  the  wordless  sympathy  he 
might  have  given  a  daughter,  held  her  a  moment, 
and  gently  raised  her. 

"I  shall  keep  my  eye  on  you,"  he  somewhat  testily 


84  CASA  GRANDE 

declared,  to  hide  his  embarrassment  at  this  outburst 
of  feeling.  "You  must  show  me  that  I  haven't  mis 
judged  you.  Now  you  may  go." 

Everybody  but  Belle  shook  hands  with  Miller  and 
thanked  him  for  what  he  had  done.  The  old  Judge 
took  him  by  the  arm  and  led  him  away. 

On  the  homeward  road  the  ranchero  passed  the 
Clarks  driving  in  silence.  "Come  and  take  dinner 
with  me,"  he  called.  "It  will  be  ready  when  you 
reach  Casa  Grande,  and  Manuel  always  has  a  plate 
or  two  extra."  He  did  not  wait  for  their  acceptance. 
Scarcely  a  day  passed  without  his  inviting  some  one 
in  the  same  offhand  manner. 

The  little  group  in  the  wagon  gazed  after  Miller 
without  comment.  Peggy  appeared  to  fly  with  him 
over  the  smooth  road,  and  even  his  back  expressed 
confidence  and  resolution. 

Belle's  emotions  were  conflicting.  Her  resent 
ment  against  him  had  grown  with  her  days  of  con 
finement,  and  she  realised  more  clearly  than  ever 
how  unjust  he  had  been.  It  seemed  to  her  that  all 
the  misery  of  the  last  three  weeks — their  remorse, 
humiliation  and  rebellion — should  be  laid  at  his 


AMONG  THORNS  85 

door.  It  had  been  his  doing  that  they  were  impris 
oned,  and  he  merited  the  hatred  she  felt  for  him. 

And  yet  she  caught  herself  measuring  each  man 
by  this  one,  who  had  greatly  wronged  her  and  her 
family.  Even  Bailey,  with  all  his  devotion,  suffered 
in  the  comparison,  and  she  had  tried,  with  new  reso 
lution,  to  make  up  for  the  unhappiness  caused  him. 
She  wondered  if  this  would  be  the  end  of  acquain 
tance  with  their  neighbour — he  seemed  so  indif 
ferent. 

"Didn't  he  take  off  his  hat  grand!"  declared 
Wash,  after  the  horseman  had  passed.  "Let's  go 
to  dinner  at  Casa  Grande." 

"I'll  not  interfere  this  time,"  Belle  replied ;  "but 
you  can  let  me  out  at  the  big  gate,  and  I'll  walk 
home." 

"Me,  too,"  added  Tom. 

"And  me,"  said  their  mother.  "You'd  better  drive 
straight  home,  Wash." 

The  boy  cracked  his  whip,  and  whistled  as  if  there 
might  be  other  opportunities  for  dining  at  Casa 
Grande. 


CHAPTER  VI 
A  CUNNING  WORKMAN 

WHEN  the  Clarks,  on  their  homeward  way, 
had  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill  overlook 
ing  Dry  Creek,  another  proceeding  of  the  master  of 
Casa  Grande  roused  Belle's  unquiet  resentment. 
About  halfway  up  the  valley  the  band  of  Indians 
who  had  harvested  Miller's  hay  the  year  before  were 
building  a  stone  fence  along  his  eastern  boundary. 

It  meant  an  inclosure  that  would  completely  ex 
clude  squatters  and  their  animals,  and,  while  the 
girl  recognised  this  as  the  most  peaceable  way  to 
keep  out  intruders,  yet  the  impassable  barrier  was 
an  assertion  of  ownership  unbearable  to  those  who 
long  had  roamed  these  hills  at  will.  More  than  that : 
it  became  a  challenge  to  open  resistance. 

Miller  had  not  been  unmindful  of  his  neighbours' 
attitude,  but  the  right  to  his  own  must  be  asserted. 

86 


A  CUNNING  WORKMAN  87 

For  two  years  his  boundary  toward  the  squatters 
had  been  daily  patrolled  by  a  mounted  vaquero,  and 
thus  he  had  prevented  their  livestock  from  trespass 
ing  or  from  mixing  with  his  herd.  The  decision  of 
court  lately  rendered  made  it  possible  now  to  main 
tain  a  more  permanent  barrier.  He  would  build  his 
close;  if  the  squatters  broke  it,  the  consequences 
would  be  theirs. 

An  abundance  of  suitable  stone  was  near  the  boun 
dary  line,  and,  with  the  help  of  teams  and  sleds, 
the  Indians  built  rapidly.  They  began  at  the  gorge 
of  the  Aguas  Frias,  behind  Casa  Grande,  whence 
the  wall  would  extend  five  miles,  past  the  darks' 
to  the  northern  line  of  the  grant,  along  which  a  stout 
rail  fence  separated  it  from  the  Los  Tollones. 

The  progress  of  the  work  was  moodily  watched 
by  the  neighbours.  It  was  well  done — better  than 
the  white  men  would  have  built,  and  as  they  fol 
lowed  the  constructing  and  noted  its  solidity  and  reg 
ularity,  their  resentment  against  the  owner  of  the 
land  was  gradually  changed,  for  the  time,  to  resent 
ment  against  his  patient  labourers. 

Patience  and  persistence!     The  men  who  knew 


88  CASA  GRANDE 

neither  the  one  trait  nor  the  other  could  not  help 
taking  umbrage  at  the  steadfastness  of  the  Indians. 
This  alien  band,  of  different  speech  and  customs, 
was  doing  the  work  and  receiving  the  pay  that  the 
white  men  considered  their  own  by  right  of  birth. 
These  labourers,  like  the  horses  they  drove  in  the 
sleds,  were  plodders,  too  dull  to  be  influenced  by 
either  entreaty  or  command,  and  gradually  they  be 
came  typical  of  persecution. 

Miller  felt  the  growing  animosity  against  his  red 
men,  and  kept  near  them  at  labour.    What  they  may 
have  felt,  only  a  reader  of  signs  could  fathom.  They 
held  stolidly  to  their  task,  and  soon  were  near  the 
darks',  where  at  least  the  master  found  diversion. 
Miller  had  permitted  the  family  to  occupy  the  old 
house  while  they  prepared  a  new  dwelling.     They 
were  quite  humble  since  their  arrest,  a  dread  of  pros 
ecution  still  lingering  in  their  fancies,  and  they  went 
diligently  at  their  tasks.    The  land  selected  for  their 
future  home  was  higher  on  the  Napa  hills,  and  a 
comparatively  flat  piece  offered  a  natural  building 
site.     It  was  watered  by  a  copious  spring,  and  a 
grove  of  pines  would  furnish  material  for  the  im- 


A  CUNNING  WORKMAN  89 

provements.  The  two  boys,  with  occasional  help 
from  a  neighbour,  cut  and  hewed  logs  ready  for  use 
and  split  "shakes"  for  the  roof. 

Wash,  alert  as  usual,  frequently  came  to  inter 
view  the  fence-builders.  He  always  had  regarded  a 
stone  wall  as  a  safe  harbour  for  squirrels  and  other 
small  pests,  but  the  care  taken  by  the  Indians  to  leave 
no  crevice  wide  enough  for  a  lizard  to  hide  in  con 
verted  the  boy  to  the  value  of  such  a  barrier. 

On  these  visits  he  liked  to  discuss  their  new  house 
with  Miller,  who  was  kept  informed  of  each  day's 
progress.  All  the  timbers  were  hewed  and  ready 
before  the  fence  was  completed,  and  the  family 
planned  a  trip  to  town  to  get  doors,  windows  and 
such  materials  as  must  be  purchased. 

"How  would  you  like  to  surprise  the  folks, 
Wash  ?"  Miller  asked,  as  the  wall  was  about  finished. 
"When  they  go  to  town  to-morrow  we  might  take 
the  Indians  and  put  up  the  cabin  before  night." 

The  boy's  eyes  danced  at  the  prospect,  and  the 
burden  of  the  plan  kept  him  more  mysterious  than 
usual  as  he  cheerfully  did  the  evening  chores. 

Next  morning  Wash  remained  behind  without 


90  CASA  GRANDE 

rousing  suspicion.  As  soon  as  the  others  were  out 
of  sight  he  and  Miller  and  the  Indians  proceeded 
with  the  house-raising.  The  old  home  was  taken 
for  a  model,  and  the  hiss  of  saw  and  the  bark  of  axe 
echoed  merrily. 

By  noon  the  walls  were  up,  and  long  before  sun 
down  the  roof  was  on  and  covered  with  "shakes," 
and  a  wide  chimney  of  rough  stones  laid  up  against 
the  north  end,  outside.  The  house  contained  a  big 
living-room  and  two  smaller  bedrooms,  porch  to  the 
west,  and  space  on  the  east  for  more  rooms  to  be 
added  later ;  everything  complete  except  doors,  win 
dows  and  floors. 

As  the  sun  neared  the  western  hills  a  dwelling 
stood  on  the  opposite  slope  of  Dry  Creek,  where  in 
the  morning  only  trees  had  been.  The  white  of 
freshly  hued  timbers  was  suffused  by  the  glow  of  the 
reddening  west,  and  the  structure  showed  warm  and 
inviting.  Then  the  men  who  had  wrought  the  wood- 
magic  gathered  a  moment  to  gaze  at  what  had  been 
effected.  They  watched  the  colour  deepen  on  the  new 
building ;  they  looked  with  satisfaction  on  that  other 
cabin  below,  of  which  this  was  the  counterpart ;  they 


A  CUNNING  WORKMAN  91 

glanced  a  moment  at  the  flaming  sun,  the  pale  blue 
of  heaven,  and,  gathering  their  belongings,  they  and 
the  master  left  as  simply  as  they  had  come. 

Soon  after  the  house-builders  had  departed  the 
Clarks  drove  down  the  hill  into  Dry  Creek.  Wash 
had  lighted  a  fire  in  their  old  cabin  and  was  busy 
with  the  evening  duties.  The  three  in  the  wagon 
saw  the  smoke  rising  from  the  chimney,  saw  the 
hillside  beyond  where  the  new  cabin  glowed  in  the 
light  of  the  setting  sun,  and  they  guessed  why  the 
boy  had  not  gone  with  them  in  the  morning.  Each 
divined  it  in  his  own  way,  with  his  own  emotion, 
and  silently  entered  the  door-yard. 

The  young  people,  without  a  word,  unhitched  and 
cared  for  the  horses,  their  mother  going  listlessly 
into  the  house.  She  removed  hat  and  wrap  and 
stood  in  the  doorway  looking  to  the  east.  On  the 
hillside,  bathed  in  rose-colour,  stood  an  almost  com 
pleted  house — doors,  chimney,  roof,  all  plainly  vis 
ible,  with  walls  as  if  aflame.  It  startled  her  to  a 
consciousness  of  its  meaning. 

The  woman  was  no  longer  young.  The  last  eight 
years  had  brought  sorrow,  but  withal  the  current  of 


92  CASA  GRANDE 

their  existence  had  been  deep  and  placid,  and  she 
had  asked  no  more  than  to  end  her  days  in  the  little 
glen  and  mingle  her  dust  with  that  of  the  man  who 
always  had  been  good  to  her.  But  that  cabin  up 
there  .  .  .! 

She  stood  nervously  twisting  her  apron  through 
bony,  calloused  fingers,  and  weakly  leaned  her  head 
against  the  casing  of  the  door,  in  and  out  of  which 
her  feet  would  no  more  pass.  Her  body  stiffened 
to  its  full  length,  and  she  clutched  at  the  throat 
of  her  garment;  her  breath  caught  convulsively, 
and,  sinking  on  the  threshold,  she  yielded  to  her 
grief.  The  old  life  was  ended;  they  must  begin 
anew. 

Belle  came  slowly  back  from  the  barn.  There  was 
a  droop  in  her  figure  that  betokened  something  be 
sides  weariness.  She  stood  at  the  pump  with  the 
others,  washing  off  the  dust  of  the  road,  but  she 
kept  her  gaze  from  the  cabin  on  the  hill. 

Wash  casually  remarked,  after  a  silence  he  no 
longer  could  endure,  "Pretty  quick  work."  He 
twisted  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  new  cabin. 

Belle  did  not  reply. 


A  CUNNING  WORKMAN  93 

"Indians  know  how  to  do  things/'  again  ventured 
the  boy. 

His  sister  was  looking  away  from  him,  and  from 
the  new  cabin. 

"Are  you  mad,  sis?  Did  you  want  to  help?" 
There  was  a  note  of  disappointment  in  the 
question. 

"It  was  a  dear  thing,  Wash.  But  why  did  you 
do  it?" 

"We  wanted  to  surprise  you." 

"You  have." 

"But  not  that  way,"  he  protested.  "We  wanted 
you  to  be  glad." 

She  shook  her  head  and  walked  to  the  house.  A 
month  ago  the  hills  were  hers,  the  woods,  the  sun 
shine,  and  slumber  profound  and  restful,  almost 
dreamless.  To-day,  although  the  hills,  the  woods, 
the  sunshine  still  were  hers,  there  had  been  added 
something — something  she  could  not  name,  yet  was 
conscious  of  from  the  mist  that  too  often  dimmed 
her  vision,  the  swelling  of  her  throat,  the  catching 
of  her  breath.  And  her  slumber — even  her  daylight 
hours  no  longer  were  dreamless. 


94  CASA  GRANDE 

As  the  girl  had  rounded  into  womanhood,  exist 
ence  was  joyously  simple.  Like  nature's  other  nurs 
lings,  she  grew  up  innocent  and  unafraid.  But  the 
story  of  Eden  must  be  renewed  in  each  earnest  life 
whenever  the  fruit  is  tasted  that  reveals  the  soul  of 
us.  During  all  her  past  she  had  regarded  the  oppo 
site  sex  concretely,  as  men.  They  had  formed  a 
class,  and  she  had  liked  them,  even  envied  them,  and 
in  many  things  had  imitated  them.  Now  she  caught 
herself  thinking  of  one  man,  who  represented  her 
ideal  of  courage  and  dignity,  and  she  was  finding 
new  gladness  in  being  a  woman,  in  thrilling  to  his 
word,  his  look. 

The  cabin  on  the  hillside — it  was  the  work  of 
his  hands.  Why  had  he  done  it?  And  she  hated 
him  so  bitterly.  Yet  he  had  built  it  to-day — a  con 
stant  reminder  of  himself. 

She  went  into  her  bedroom,  closed  the  door,  and 
looked  out  the  window  at  their  future  home,  grow 
ing  distant  in  the  deepening  gloom.  He  had  planned 
it — he  had  planned  it!  The  thought  beat  in  her 
brain  with  every  throb  of  her  heart,  and  something 
swelled  in  her  throat.  She  flung  herself  on  the  bed 


A  CUNNING  WORKMAN  95 

and  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow  to  smother  the  sobs 
that  no  longer  would  down. 

An  hour  later  Mrs.  Clark  came  softly  into  the 
room.  Belle  lay  just  as  she  had  thrown  herself,  and 
the  mother  gazed  long  and  wistfully  at  her  sleeping 
daughter,  then  gently  drew  a  cover  over  her. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  RAIN  IS  OVER 

MAY  was  nearly  past,  and  with  it  the  rainy  sea 
son.  The  verdant  mantle  of  the  fields  was 
turning  amber;  the  bawling  of  calves  and  the  an 
swering  low  of  dams  filled  the  valley  of  the  Cala- 
bezas,  except  the  southernmost  end,  where  a  waving 
meadow  of  wild  grass  was  fit  for  the  scythe. 

Here  was  the  hay-field  of  the  ranch,  a  level  green 
of  wild  oats  reaching  to  a  horse's  withers,  across 
hundreds  of  acres  securely  fenced  from  wandering 
cattle.  The  crop  was  now  at  its  best,  and  should 
be  harvested  within  a  fortnight.  There  were  Indians 
enough  to  mow  the  grass,  and  Miller  had  arranged, 
on  the  day  after  the  building  of  the  Clarks'  dwell 
ing,  to  move  them  from  Dry  Creek  and  quarter  them 
near  the  meadow. 

Early  the  next  morning  a  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the 
96 


THE  RAIN  IS  OVER  97 

courtyard,  the  furious  barking  of  the  dogs,  precipi 
tately  fetched  the  Casa  Grande  household  from  their 
beds.  In  the  faint  dawn  they  recognised  Belle,  a 
rifle  across  her  shoulder,  her  horse  breathing 
hard. 

Some  time  during  the  night  an  ambushed  attack 
had  been  made  on  one  of  the  cabins  housing  the  red 
men.  Volley  after  volley  had  been  fired  on  them, 
arousing  the  inmates  of  the  other  cabins  to  go  out 
for  battle.  The  attacking  party  had  fled  before  the 
charge  of  the  Indians,  and  the  trail  of  the  aggressors 
had  been  followed  to  the  cabin  of  one  of  the  squat 
ters,  which  now  was  besieged  by  the  trailers.  The 
other  squatters  would  gather  to  help  their  neigh 
bours,  and  Miller  must  hasten  if  he  would  prevent 
bloodshed,  perhaps  slaughter. 

The  ranchero  galloped  alone  with  Belle  to  Dry 
Creek,  and  took  no  arms,  not  even  a  knife.  At  the 
foot  of  the  grade  into  the  valley  he  asked  the  girl  not 
to  follow  him.  "It's  no  place  for  a  woman,"  he  said, 
and  he  said  it  kindly. 

"It's  no  place  for  a  lone  man,"  she  quickly  re 
plied.  "The  squatters  aren't  friendly,  and  the  In- 


98  CASA  GRANDE 

dians  are  mad.  They  shot  at  me  this  morning  when 
I  rode  over  there." 

"No,  Belle.  There's  no  way  so  safe.  Neither  side 
will  fire  on  a  lone  man.  Now  go,  please." 

She  rode  away  in  the  direction  of  their  dwelling, 
and  watched  him  fearlessly  advance  to  where  the 
Indians  were  ambushed.  Some  men  were  inside  the 
house,  and  the  windows  were  barricaded.  The  In 
dians,  inadequately  armed,  were  sheltered  behind 
trees  and  outbuildings,  waiting  an  opportunity  to 
kill. 

Miller  called  off  his  labourers  for  a  parley.  It  was 
an  unsatisfactory  conference,  since  their  knowledge 
of  Spanish,  the  only  language  both  understood,  was 
inadequate  to  express  their  feelings.  He  made  out, 
however,  that  one  of  their  number  had  been 
wounded,  and  they  demanded  as  indemnity  a  pair  of 
horses.  He  agreed  to  give  them  what  they  de 
manded,  but  they  wanted  the  horses  from  the  offend 
ing  squatters,  or  else  they  would  kill  the  first  man 
that  came  out  of  the  cabin. 

The  other  squatters  were  gathering  to  the  help  of 
their  neighbours,  each  armed  with  a  rifle,  and  all 


THE  RAIN  IS  OVER  99 

crack  shots,  but  they  numbered  only  ten  or  twelve 
against  thirty  or  forty  Indians.  There  were  sen 
sible,  determined  men  in  the  relief  party,  and  Miller 
talked  over  the  situation  with  them.  Many  lives 
might  be  sacrificed  if  the  red  men  were  not  pacified, 
and  the  ranchero,  after  stating  the  demand  of  his 
labourers,  proposed  to  pay  for  the  horses  if  the  ag 
gressors  would  give  them  up. 

The  offer  was  rejected  by  the  besieged,  who  deter 
mined  to  make  no  concessions  whatever.  The  In 
dians  might  be  damned,  the  presence  of  the  neigh 
bours  giving  courage  to  the  mischief-makers,  and 
the  others  were  but  lukewarm  in  advocating  any 
compromise. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  Manuel  rode  over  to  see 
how  Miller  was  progressing.  The  ranchero  was  los 
ing  temper  at  the  insolent  attitude  of  the  squatters, 
and  he  sent  the  old  soldier  back  to  get  all  the  arms 
and  ammunition  in  the  big  house,  which  were  dis 
tributed  among  the  little  band  of  warriors,  and  they 
prepared  for  a  swift  attack. 

The  neighbours  had  gathered  close  to  the  cabin 
of  the  besieged,  and,  finding  themselves  surrounded 


ioo  CASA  GRANDE 

by  well-armed  red  men,  each  protected  by  some  nat 
ural  defence,  they  went  into  the  house. 

As  Miller,  with  a  half-dozen  warriors,  was  de 
ploying  behind  the  cabin,  he  encountered  Belle.  She 
assured  him  that  no  women  or  children  were  there, 
and  he  went  up  to  a  large  boulder  on  the  hillside, 
loosened  the  rock  and  sent  it  crashing  into  the  house. 
It  smashed  the  stone  chimney  and  destroyed  the  end 
wall.  With  bundles  of  dry  brush  the  red  men  then 
stole  up  in  the  rear,  protected  by  the  stable,  and 
threw  the  inflammable  material  against  the  house, 
set  fire  to  it  and,  still  protected  by  any  object  that 
might  hide  the  body  of  a  man,  closed  around  their 
victims. 

The  fire  soon  caught  the  dwelling,  and  a  man  came 
out  with  a  flag  of  truce.  Miller  met  him,  and  at 
once  made  terms,  the  same  as  proposed  by  himself 
earlier  in  the  day,  and  called  off  his  warriors,  but 
too  late,  however,  for  the  white  men  to  save  the 
building. 

That  night  the  Indians  were  guarded  by  the  en 
tire  force  from  Casa  Grande,  the  men  sleeping  about 
a  watch-fire.  The  next  day  Miller  hauled  them  to 


THE  RAIN  IS  OVER  V  ?'-',  L  ioi  :. 

the  valley  of  the  Casa  Grande,  where  his  own  dwell 
ing  would  intervene  between  the  squatters  and  the 
Indians.  The  entire  day,  however,  was  consumed 
in  the  removal,  and  the  master  felt,  when  he  retired 
that  night,  much  as  he  imagined  the  red  men  must 
have  felt  in  the  morning.  A  new  problem  had  been 
added  to  his  cares;  a  new  danger  threatened  the 
white  men  in  their  own  folly.  He  must  prevent  a 
spark  from  being  thrown  among  his  high  explosives, 
that  would  destroy  the  entire  settlement  in  Dry 
Creek,  and  to  do  this  he  must  be  ever  near  his  work 
men. 

In  the  fragrant  dawn  of  the  next  day  the  mowers 
took  their  places  on  the  hay  field,  only  their  shoul 
ders  visible  above  the  standing  grain.  They  wore 
no  hats,  and  as  they  moved  to  and  fro  at  work  they 
appeared  like  swimmers  in  a  placid  lake.  The  ver 
dure  stretched  away  on  every  side,  like  a  level  sea, 
the  bleaching  seed  pods  giving  an  effect  of  mist  on 
green-blue  water.  At  noon  the  scythes  had  swept 
wide  aisles  through  the  compact  growth  and  deep- 
cushioned  the  floors  with  fading  green.  At  night 
the  green  had  turned  to  honey-colour. 


CASA  GRANDE 

Harvesting  went  uneventfully  along,  and  the  hay 
lay  curing  in  yellowing  heaps.  The  crop  should  be 
stored  as  soon  as  cured,  to  save  it  from  summer 
rains,  and  the  hauling  of  it  to  the  sheds  Miller  had 
expected  to  have  done  by  his  neighbours.  Under 
present  conditions  he  could  hardly  trust  them,  and 
the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  rely  on  his  own  teams 
with  the  Indian  teamsters.  They  had  succeeded 
very  well  in  hauling  stones  for  the  new  wall,  and 
he  would  put  them  to  the  test  with  the  hay  crop. 

Two  weeks  had  passed  since  haying  began,  and 
the  grass  was  nearly  all  moved.  The  teams  were 
hauling  away  the  hay  in  fragrant  wagon  loads,  and 
Miller  was  congratulating  himself  on  the  serenity 
of  their  progress  and  taking  some  credit  for  the 
watchful  guard  he  had  kept.  Towards  sundown  he 
strolled  to  the  barn  to  see  how  nearly  it  was  filled, 
and  as  he  returned  he  noticed  half  a  dozen  horsemen 
ride  up  to  the  Indians  in  the  hay-field,  the  actions  of 
the  strangers  not  at  all  friendly. 

The  ranchero  galloped  down  to  the  newcomers, 
and  examined,  as  he  went,  the  revolver  strapped  to 
the  horn  of  his  saddle.  The  strangers,  all  well 


THE  RAIN  IS  OVER  103 

armed,  were  friends  of  the  squatters,  and  on  their 
way  from  Santa  Rosa  had  planned  to  assist  Miller's 
neighbours  in  persecuting  him  by  driving  the  In 
dians  from  the  field,  as  none  of  the  red  men  had 
weapons.  Miller  rode  close  to  the  invaders  before 
drawing  rein,  and  he  noticed  the  mowers,  one  after 
another,  stop  and  gaze  curiously  at  the  white  men. 

"Gentlemen,"  asked  the  ranchero,  "what  can  I  do 
for  you?"  His  voice  was  pleasant,  but  with  a  domi 
nant  ring. 

The  men  grinned  at  him,  conscious  of  superior 
numbers.  Two  moved  as  if  to  flank  him. 

Miller's  hand  flashed  in  a  curve  away  from  his 
waist,  and  the  nearest  rider  halted  hard,  gazed  down 
the  barrel  of  a  revolver,  and  on  to  the  face  of  the 
man  behind  the  weapon. 

Another,  who  had  not  observed  Miller's  face, 
cried,  "Down  with  him !"  and  spurred  his  mount. 

The  revolver  cracked,  and  the  horse  dropped,  the 
rider  sprawling  at  the  feet  of  the  master  of  the 
grant,  who,  smoking  weapon  in  hand,  coolly  dis 
mounted;  he  felt  sure  of  himself,  for  he  had  tried 
his  opponents. 


104  CASA  GRANDE 

"Close  up,"  was  his  next  command,  to  keep  the 
invaders  in  front  of  him,  and  they  obeyed.  Then 
they  saw  that  they  themselves  were  surrounded. 

.  For  a  score  of  the  mowers,  each  a  born  warrior, 
had  silently  gathered.  They  had  stripped  to  the 
waist  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  their  bodies  glis 
tened  with  sweat,  the  muscles  playing  smoothly  over 
the  round  barrel  of  their  ribs.  A  red  cloth  bound 
about  each  head  confined  mane-like  hair  that  fell  to 
their  shoulders.  In  their  hands  were  scythes. 

It  was  for  but  a  swift  moment,  yet  the  air  was 
tense  with  watchfulness;  even  the  horses  forgot  to 
move.  The  low  of  far-away  cattle,  the  bark  of  a 
distant  dog,  the  faint  "oo-ee"  of  a  vaquero  sounded 
painfully  distinct.  The  swarthy  faces  of  the  mowers 
were  expressionless,  but  the  eyes  under  their  banded 
manes  gleamed  like  furnace  openings  that  show 
liquid  fury  beyond.  What  if  they  should  close  on 
the  white  marauders?  What  if  Miller  could  no 
longer  control  these  silent,  almost  spectral  figures? 
The  same  thought  came  to  the  minds  of  all,  for 
Miller  remarked,  in  an  even  tone : 

"Gentlemen,  good-night.    Go  quick." 


THE  RAIN  IS  OVER  105 

The  white  men,  sullen  and  ashamed,  sped  to  the 
south;  the  red  men  as  swiftly  dispersed,  and  when 
Miller  climbed  to  his  saddle  the  lithe  bodies  of  the 
mowers  once  more  swung  mechanically  to  the  sweep 
of  scythes.  These  primitive  labourers  would  not 
again  be  molested;  they  had  proved  themselves 
fighters. 

The  master  of  Casa  Grande  returned  dejectedly 
up  the  slope  to  the  dwelling.  The  sun  had  set  and 
the  shadows  above  the  eastern  hills  were  arching 
toward  the  west.  Among  the  trees  on  the  trail  to 
Dry  Creek  a  figure  moved  smoothly.  Miller  re 
garded  it  absently.  He  was  brooding  over  the  tem 
per  of  the  squatters,  and  in  the  reaction  following 
his  meeting  with  them  and  the  weariness  from  a  long 
day's  labour,  he  wondered  if  it  were  worth  while 
to  live  longer  among  the  snarling  pack.  Some  move 
ment  of  the  climbing  figure,  a  graceful,  dainty  mo 
tion,  betrayed  her,  and  he  drew  rein  to  watch  her 
disappear  over  the  top  of  the  hill.  He  regretted  that 
she  had  witnessed  the  meeting  in  the  harvest  field. 
Then  the  bell  clanged  from  the  watch  tower,  and  his 
pony  bounded  away  to  the  stable. 


io6  CASA  GRANDE 

Throughout  the  harvest  it  had  been  ideal  weather ; 
now  that  it  was  nearly  over,  a  puff  of  white,  as  a 
cloud  filled  its  fleecy  sail,  caused  Manuel  anxiously 
to  watch  the  heavens.  A  few  days  more,  and  the 
hay  would  be  stored — then  rain  would  not  so  much 
matter.  The  master  rode  up  as  the  cook  scanned 
the  sky,  and  the  weather  prophet  was  asked  to  make 
a  forecast. 

"Yeh,"  was  the  answer;  "by  'n  by  rain.'* 

"To-day  or  to-morrow  ?" 

"This  week,  me  theenk,"  was  the  safe  reply.  It 
was  now  Wednesday. 

Miller  thought  of  Wash  Clark  and  his  team.  The 
lad  might  be  hired  to  help  out  and  hasten  the  storing 
of  the  crop.  Perhaps  his  friendship  might  stand 
between  the  ranchero  and  the  prejudice  of  the 
squatters,  and  the  man  rode  to  Dry  Creek.  It 
was  days  since  he  had  been  to  the  Clarks', 
and  he  noticed  many  changes.  The  spring  had 
been  piped  to  the  cabin,  and  already  a  garden 
was  starting,  and  vines  and  shrubs  budded  here 
and  there.  The  yard  had  been  enclosed,  out 
buildings  erected,  and  the  domestic  animals  and 


THE  RAIN  IS  OVER  107 

fowls  were  quite  at  home  in  their  new  domi 
ciles. 

Mrs.  Clark  came  out  and  hesitated  in  her  refusal 
of  Miller's  offer.  Five  dollars  a  day  would  Help  just 
now  when  they  needed  many  things. 

"Wash  '11  be  here  in  a  minute/'  she  explained. 
"Perhaps  we'd  better  leave  it  to  him." 

Belle  stepped  to  the  porch.  "We  can't  spare  Wash 
and  the  team,"  she  said.  "We  have  many  things 
to  do." 

"I'll  pay  seven  and  a  half  the  rest  of  the  week," 
ventured  the  master  of  Casa  Grande.  "Every  day 
counts."  He  glanced  at  the  clouds. 

"You  know  how  we  feel.  I'd  refuse  twenty  dol 
lars!" 

"Wash!  Wash!"  called  his  mother,  waving  her 
apron  as  she  caught  sight  of  her  son.  When  he 
came  up  she  told  him  of  Miller's  offer. 

"Yes,  I'll  go,"  gladly  replied  the  boy. 

"No,  Wash,  we're  too  busy  now,"  insisted  his 
sister. 

"Only  three  or  four  days,"  protested  the  boy. 
"You  can  wait.  We  need  the  money." 


io8  CASA  GRANDE 

He  hastened  into  the  hills  to  catch  the  team,  and 
Miller,  doubtful  of  his  advantage,  rode  away. 

When  Wash  fetched  the  horses  to  the  gate  Belle 
sat  on  the  porch. 

"Are  you  mad,  sis?"  he  good-naturedly  asked. 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"Because  he  likes  me  better  'n  you,"  the  boy  teas- 
ingly  continued. 

"It's  no  such  thing!" 

Wash  laughed  at  what  he  considered  unnecessary 
warmth  in  her  contradiction,  and  banteringly  added : 
"He  can  ride  better  'n  you."  It  was  the  first  time 
the  brother  had  admitted  that  any  one  could  ride 
better  than  his  sister. 

She  did  not  answer  this  last  stricture;  she  saw 
she  was  being  teased. 

When  Wash  was  ready  to  start  away,  he  some 
what  irrelevantly  announced:  "He  likes  you,  too." 

"I  hate  him!" 

The  boy  again  laughed,  rather  sceptically  this 
time,  and  Belle  rose  to  enter  the  house. 

"How  do  you  know  he  likes  me?" 

Wash  deliberately  looked  over  horses,  harness  and 


THE  RAIN  IS  OVER  109 

wagon  before  he  climbed  to  his  seat,  and  answered : 
"When  you  rode  to  Casa  Grande  about  the  fight  be 
tween  the  squatters  and  the  Indians  he  said  you  were 
a  brave  woman." 

He  had  called  her  a  brave  woman.  Did  he  mean 
it? — did  he  mean  it?  Her  ideal  of  life  was  to  be  a 
brave  woman,  and  a  brave  man  had  called  her  that. 
Once  again  the  little  room  with  white  curtains  and 
white  bed  became  silent  witnesses  of  the  girl's  happy 
tears. 

Wash  and  team  were  kept  busy  at  Casa  Grande. 
The  clouds  gathered  slowly,  but  with  increasing 
thickness.  Friday  night  a  light  shower  fell;  then 
the  sky  cleared  till  Saturday  night,  when  the  storm 
broke  heavily,  the  rain  starting  melodies  on  the  red- 
tiled  roof,  which  rang  like  metallic  plates  to  the  pat 
tering  hammers  of  raindrops.  The  last  load  of  hay 
had  been  protected,  and  long  before  midnight  the 
wearied  household  was  sleeping,  only  the  master 
stirring.  Out  through  the  windows  a  veil  of  mist 
obscured  the  stars  and  lay  like  a  downy  counterpane 
over  the  earth.  About  the  hearth,  in  the  glow  of 
burnt-out  logs,  stretched  the  dogs.  As  the  owner 


no  CASA  GRANDE 

stood  a  moment  regarding  them,  they  thumped 
indolent  tails  and  drew  their  breath  deep  with 
content. 

Manuel  rose  on  his  cot  in  a  corner  and  called, 
softly :  "Dam*  fine  rain,  Meestah  Jone." 

"Did  I  waken  you,  old  man  ?"  was  the  apologetic 
reply.  "Good-night,"  and  the  master  disappeared 
into  his  own  room. 

Wash  went  home  after  breakfast  next  morning. 
If  he  could  be  at  Casa  Grande,  where  at  least  one 
person  understood  him,  it  meant  living.  To  asso 
ciate  with  a  masterful  man,  to  be  noticed  by  him, 
to  be  trusted  by  him — these  are  influences  that  find 
the  soul  of  youth. 

Miller  followed  close  behind  Wash  to  Dry  Creek. 
The  man  first  had  ridden  to  the  glen  of  the  Aguas 
Frias,  where  azaleas  were  banked  in  creamy-white 
bloom,  and  he  had  cut  a  swelling  armful  of  the  frag 
rance.  His  victory  over  Belle  in  securing  Wash 
rankled  in  his  memory ;  he  would  trust  these  white- 
winged  messengers  to  plead  his  necessity.  Belle  saw 
the  horseman  coming — the  mass  of  flowers  first — 
and  wondered.  He  rode  to  the  porch-rail  and,  with 


THE  RAIN  IS  OVER  in 

sunshine  in  his  glance,  held  out  the  flashing  bunch 
of  colour  still  gemmed  by  raindrops. 

"I've  brought  you  a  thanks-offering,"  he  said. 
"Wash  saved  the  hay.  You'll  pardon  my  urgency 
last  week." 

The  girl  turned  resentful  eyes  to  him  and  put  her 
hands  quickly  behind  her,  but  did  not  speak. 

"Come,  now,"  he  banteringly  called,  still  holding 
out  the  flowers,  "I've  never  seen  you  with  a  bunch 
like  this  in  your  arms." 

They  gazed  deep  into  each  other's  souls,  and  her 
glance  changed  from  resentment  to  challenge.  She 
impulsively  took  the  blossoms,  folded  them  to  her 
breast  the  way  women  have,  buried  her  face  caress 
ingly  in  their  fragrance,  and  shyly  turned  to  the 
door.  As  she  entered,  she  stopped  to  look  back.  He 
caught  the  white  of  her  rounded  neck,  the  scarlet  of 
her  parted  lips,  and  a  flash  in  her  eyes  that  sent  his 
heart  to  his  throat.  For  once,  the  man's  lids  drooped. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BUT  HE  GAVE  ME  NO  ANSWER 

NOT  long  after  hay  harvest,  the  sheriff  rode  past 
the  now  deserted  feeding-sheds  and  up  the 
rise  to  Casa  Grande.  The  sun  was  near  to  setting, 
and  the  air,  cooling  after  a  hot  day,  was  clear  and 
fragrant.  Mourning  doves  were  wailing  the  depart 
ing  light  and  cock-quails  clamorously  gathered  the 
early  broods  to  their  roosting.  The  horseman  now 
and  then,  with  a  suggestion  of  perplexity,  ran  his 
fingers  through  thick,  straight  hair,  lifting  it  to  the 
breeze,  or  braced  himself  erectly  in  the  saddle,  the 
slight  droop  of  his  rugged  figure  not  wholly  due  to 
fatigue. 

Bailey  for  weeks  had  been  disquieted  by  the  master 
of  Casa  Grande' s  increasing  attentions  to  the  Clarks. 
The  bailing  of  the  family,  the  building  of  their  new 
cabin,  even  the  bunch  of  azaleas  carried  by  Miller  to 


112 


HE  GAVE  ME  NO  ANSWER  113 

the  girl — insignificant,  perhaps,  considered  singly— 
were  courtesies  that  gathered  meaning  by  their  re 
currence. 

When  the  ranchero  first  took  possession  of  the 
Aguas  Frias  grant  the  resentment  of  the  settlers, 
including  Belle  and  her  family,  was  so  evident  that 
the  land-owner  was  in  danger  of  personal  violence. 
This  relationship  had  been  maintained  until  legal 
proceedings  were  begun  to  eject  the  squatters,  and 
then  the  attitude  of  all  parties  suddenly  became 
covert. 

It  was  months,  therefore,  after  Bailey  first  met 
Miller  before  the  ranchero  had  given  any  sign  of 
interest  in  the  girl,  or  in  her  family.  Even  as  it  was, 
his  regard  appeared  to  be  prompted  by  inbred  chiv 
alry  rather  than  by  personal  attraction,  making  it 
the  more  difficult  to  criticise. 

And  the  girl  herself — her  incomprehensible 

ways There  was  reason  for  uneasiness,  almost 

for  despair ;  but  Bailey  was  not  of  the  temper  to  yield 
till  the  last  word  had  been  spoken.  He  realised,  too, 
that  Belle  had  given  him,  as  yet,  no  right  to  claim 
her  affections  for  his  own.  She  had  been  his  willing 


114  CASA  GRANDE 

friend,  his  ready  comrade,  but  beyond  that  she  never 
had  encouraged  him. 

An  irresistible  attraction  impelled  him  to  visit  the 
place  of  his  coveted  rose-garden,  and  the  man  dwell 
ing  next  to  it.  This  evening  had  been  taken  from 
the  rush  of  a  political  canvass  to  put  an  end  to  the 
suspense  he  no  longer  could  endure — to  learn  if,  for 
him,  she  were  a  garden  forever  inclosed. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  host  and  guest  lingered 
after  the  men  had  withdrawn.  Bailey  smoked  ab 
stractedly,  leaning  on  the  table.  Miller,  luxuriating 
in  the  pleasures  of  companionship,  thought  of  noth 
ing  in  particular,  and  filled  up  the  silence  by  stroking 
Gyp,  perched  beside  him  on  the  bench. 

The  visitor  evidently  had  been  observing  the  host, 
for  the  moody  man  abruptly  remarked :  "If  I  were 
as  fond  of  pets  as  you  are,  I'd  get  a  wife."  The 
subject  uppermost  in  his  mind  was  broached  at  last. 

"Matrimony  has  its  advantages,"  solemnly  con 
fessed  the  ranchero.  "But,"  he  added,  with  a  twin 
kle  in  his  eyes,  "dogs,  and  horses,  and  cows  are 
easier  to  find." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  trying  to  interfere,  but  I've  been 


HE  GAVE  ME  NO  ANSWER  115 

thinking  that  some  woman  is  missing  a  good  home 
— and  a  better  husband." 

"Have  you  anybody  in  mind?"  asked  Miller,  a 
note  of  banter  still  in  his  tone. 

"No,  John,  none  of  my  women.  Something  fine 
— thoroughbred — like  yourself." 

Miller,  too,  leaned  on  the  table  and  gazed  stead 
fastly  at  his  guest,  then  quietly  asked:  "What  is 
thoroughbred  ?" 

The  guest  looked  up  doubtfully,  and  Miller  pro 
ceeded  to  answer  his  own  question.  "It's  the  doing. 
To  do  a  thing  counts  as  much  as  pedigree — more! 
Think  of  all  the  pedigreed  flunkers;  worse  than 
scrubs!  The  most  obscure  mare  that  can  run  the 
pace  may  not  become  thoroughbred  by  her  perform 
ances,  but  she  may  become  the  dam  of  thorough 
breds." 

The  speaker  paused  and  smiled.  His  voice  had 
lifted,  the  ring  in  it  telling  that  he  had  deeply  con 
sidered  what  qualities  make  thoroughbred. 

Bailey  straightened  irritably  and  shook  his  head. 
Some  things  in  his  friend's  philosophy  were  beyond 
understanding.  He,  who  had  been  poor  and  obscure 


n6  CASA  GRANDE 

all  his  life,  failed  to  appreciate  how  any  one  could 
thus  ignore  the  transcendent  advantages  of  breed 
ing.  He  had  not  yet  discovered  that  obscure  blood 
makes  the  very  existence  of  the  thoroughbred  pos 
sible;  the  name  describing  a  quality  of  nerve  and 
mind,  rather  than  of  bone  and  muscle. 

One  thing,  however,  he  did  believe — he  felt  it  in 
his  aching  heart — that  Miller,  when  stating  his 
theory  of  success,  had  Belle  in  his  fancy.  She  was 
the  obscure  blood,  and,  had  she  the  opportunity, 
could  make  the  winning  pace.  A  question  might 
test  his  opinion. 

"Would  you,  then,  marry  a  woman  of  obscure 
blood,  as  you  call  it?" 

Miller  looked  down  at  Gyp  and  dropped  a  caress 
ing  hand  on  her.  When  he  looked  up  he  frankly  met 
the  gaze  of  the  other  man,  and  his  lips  expressed 
amusement.  "I  don't  know.  Why  shouldn't  I? 
Men  have  done  stranger  things." 

"And  take  her  among  your  friends,  to  your  fam 
ily — with  her  speech,  her  dress,  her  manners?" 

Miller  leaned  comfortably  back,  and  asked  what 
would  be  the  speech  of  such  a  woman  transported 


HE  GAVE  ME  NO  ANSWER  117 

from  the  heart  of  the  backwoods  to  the  lap  of  civili 
sation. 

Bailey  laughed  incredulously,  and  remarked  that 
he  thought  the  ranchero  knew. 

"What  would  you  do,"  was  the  quick  reply,  "if 
you  were  to  be  set  down  in  Boston  to-morrow? 
Would  you  be  very  conspicuous  ?" 

The  sheriff  gazed  silently  at  the  dog.  The  ques 
tion  evidently  had  started  a  new  train  of  thought. 

"If  my  theory  is  right,"  continued  Miller,  "she'll 
act  like  people3she  finds  herself  among.  Her  speech, 
dress  and  manner  will  be  copied  from  her  surround 
ings.  That's  the  thoroughbred  in  her." 

Bailey  looked  up  interestedly,  and  asked  if  his 
host  thought  it  would  be  fair  to  the  woman. 

"That  would  depend  on  the  woman." 

The  questioner  had  one  more  condition  to  urge. 
"Suppose  she  had  the  prospect  of  a  good  home  with 
her  own  kind ;  then  would  it  be  fair  ?" 

Miller  had  indifferently  followed  the  trend  of 
his  guest's  inquiries,  but  their  object  was  clearer 
now,  and  this  last  question  called  for  a  definite 
answer. 


n8  CAS  A  GRANDE 

"You're  speaking,"  he  replied,  "of  an  engagement 
— a  betrothal.  In  that  case  it  wouldn't  be  fair.  At 
best,  it  wouldn't  be  profitable." 

"No,  I'm  not  speaking  of  an  engagement." 

"Then  it  would  depend  on  the  man." 

The  sheriff  frowned  uncomprehendingly. 

Miller  smiled  easily,  and  explained  that  happiness 
is  not  the  winning  of  a  great  love,  but  the  keeping 
of  it. 

Bailey  swung  round,  his  back  to  the  table,  his 
elbows  resting  on  it,  and  lightly  answered  that  love 
can  easily  be  held  if  once  won. 

'The  ranchero  leaned  forward  and  drummed  on  the 
boards  with  his  fingers.  "I'm  afraid  of  that  theory, 
Bailey." 

The  sheriff  turned  his  face  questioningly  over  his 
shoulder. 

"Love  is  like  a  gushing  spring,"  continued  Miller; 
"it  feeds  on  what  it  yields.  The  sun  lifts  vapours 
from  the  ocean;  the  wind  drives  them  inland;  the 
cold  pours  them  down;  and  the  springs  drink  of 
them,  and  then  give  them  up  to  the  rivers,  that  flow 
back  to  the  ocean." 


HE  GAVE  ME  NO  ANSWER  119 

The  sheriff  was  not  listening.  His  fancy  went 
back  to  the  desert  mountains  crossed  by  the  over 
land  route  he  had  followed  to  the  coast.  No  rain 
fell  on  those  verdureless  wastes,  and  no  springs 
gushed  out  of  them.  He  suddenly  looked  up  at  his 
host  and  said,  "Well?" 

Miller  smiled  pleasantly,  and  finished  his  com 
parison  by  adding :  "I  seriously  question  the  wisdom 
of  any  man's  accepting  a  deep  love  unless  he  is  pre 
pared  to  give  as  deep  love  in  return." 

Bailey  swung  round  toward  the  speaker  and  re 
garded  him  apprehensively,  as  if  there  were  a  per 
sonal  meaning  in  the  last  speech.  He  was  reassured 
by  his  host's  serenity,  and  indolently  exclaimed,  as 
he  sprawled  on  the  table :  "You  make  this  too  sol 
emn.  It  isn't  worth  the  trouble!  What's  in  the 
doing,  anyway?" 

The  master  of  Casa  Grande  laughed  indulgently, 
and  said:  "Aren't  great  love,  great  energy,  great 
patience,  great  cheerfulness,  the  mothering  of  capa 
ble  men  and  tender  women,  all  in  the  doing?  Aren't 
they  worth  while?" 

"But,"  persisted  Bailey,  reverting  to  the  begin- 


120  CASA  GRANDE 

ning  of  the  discussion,  "aren't  there  plenty  of  thor 
oughbreds  that  can  do  things?" 

The  host  appeared  doubtful  what  to  answer.  He 
ventured  the  opinion,  however,  that  people  who  can 
do  things  are  like  gold  mines — hard  to  find.  They 
must  be  taken  where  found. 

Bailey  rose  stiffly,  and  shook  himself  as  if  to 
throw  off  the  doubts  suggested  by  his  host's  theories. 
The  suspense  that  rode  in  with  him  at  sunset  had 
been  neither  added  to  nor  lessened.  Miller  had 
spoken  impersonally,  as  if  he  were  stating  a  truth 
of  life,  far-reaching  in  its  application,  but  intended 
for  no  special  case.  The  visitor  took  down  his  hat, 
and  the  two  men,  with  a  lighted  lantern,  went  out 
together. 

At  the  stable  the  departing  guest  explained,  in 
reply  to  the  ranchero's  final  protest  against  leaving 
Casa  Grande  at  so  late  an  hour,  that  he  expected  to 
stay  all  night  with  the  Clarks.  "Haven't  seen  my 
girl  for  two  weeks,"  he  added.  There  was  an  at 
tempt  at  lightness  in  the  remark,  but  the  speaker's 
manner  belied  his  tone. 

The  sheriff  turned  his  horse's  head  to  the  road, 


HE  GAVE  ME  NO  ANSWER  121 

but  wheeled  and  came  back.  "You  know  what  I'm 
going  for,  Miller."  He  spoke  abruptly,  and  before 
the  ranchero  had  time  to  gather  his  wits  Bailey  an 
swered  himself :  "I  love  Belle  and  want  her  for  my 
wife.  Are  you  after  her,  too?" 

Miller  laid  his  hand  on  the  pommel  of  Bailey's 
saddle,  looked  up  at  the  figure  of  the  rider,  looming 
big  in  the  dark,  and  frankly  replied :  "You've  spoken 
like  a  man,  Sam.  I  can't  answer  your  question,  be 
cause  I've  never  put  it  to  myself.  One  thing,  though, 
I  can  say:  I'll  be  no  woman's  alternative!  I  must 
stand  alone  in  her  affection." 

Once  again  the  sheriff  was  baffled,  and  silently 
rode  toward  Dry  Creek. 

Belle,  when  Bailey  walked  into  the  yard,  was  half 
reclining  on  the  edge  of  the  porch,  her  hands  clasped 
behind  her  head,  her  eyes  dreamily  fixed  in  the  direc 
tion  of  Casa  Grande.  She  was  expecting  no  caller 
at  that  hour,  and  if  she  thought  about  it  at  all,  she 
supposed  it  was  one  of  her  brothers.  The  man 
halted  as  he  caught  sight  of  her,  his  throat  tighten 
ing.  His  hesitation  roused  the  girl. 

"Sam!"  she  exclaimed.     That  was  all.     But  her 


122  CASA  GRANDE 

fingers,  just  for  a  happy  moment,  lay  warm  and  glad 
in  his. 

He  sat  down,  but  she  urged  him  to  go  in,  as  her 
mother  would  like  to  see  him. 

"In  a  minute,"  he  protested.  "I  want  to  talk  to 
you.  Plenty  of  time  to  see  your  mother.  I'm  going 
to  stay  to-night." 

Belle  wanted  to  know  if  he  had  had  supper,  and 
when  he  explained  that  he  had  eaten  at  Casa  Grande 
she  tartly  suggested  that  he  would  better  go  back 
for  his  lodging. 

The  caller  was  pleased  with  this  touch  of  asperity, 
since  it  held  a  trace  of  jealousy.  He  laughed  con 
tentedly,  and  remarked  that  he  preferred  present 
company. 

"Put  up  your  horse,  then,"  she  said,  and  together 
they  went  to  the  stable. 

Bailey  walked  close  to  the  girl.  There  must  have 
been  desperation  in  the  sweep  of  her  skirt,  for  he 
could  wait  no  longer  on  fate.  He  reached  softly 
for  her  hand;  with  a  nice  tact  she  avoided  his 
clasp.  Where  the  path  narrowed  they  came 
closer,  and  he  sought  to  slip  his  arm  in  the  hollow 


HE  GAVE  ME  NO  ANSWER  123 

of  her  waist.  She  gently  forced  his  hand  to  her 
side. 

It  was  a  new  game  they  were  playing — a  panto 
mime  in  the  dark,  but  glaringly  eloquent.  Their 
hearts  were  painfully  throbbing,  his  with  unspoken 
desire,  hers  with  a  new  distress.  A  month  ago  she 
would  have  told  him  to  quit,  and  had  he  persisted 
she  could  unmistakably  have  emphasised  her  mean 
ing.  Now  something  fine  and  sweet,  that  budded 
only  yesterday,  kept  her  from  speaking,  but  endowed 
her  body  with  a  gracious  language. 

While  the  man  did  not  understand  all  her  mean 
ing,  he  caught  sufficient  to  restrain  him,  and  he 
walked  back  with  her  as  silent  as  he  was  unhappy. 
At  the  gate  his  caution  left  him  and  he  grasped  her 
wrists.  She  met  his  gaze  steadfastly  and  waited  for 
him  to  speak. 

"It's  Miller !"  he  breathed,  at  last,  bursting  with 
his  own  perplexities. 

She  twisted  her  wrists  in  his  clasp,  but  he  held  on 
firmly.  "Let's  go  in."  The  gladness  and  welcome 
had  gone  from  her  voice. 

Even  then  he  did  not  realise,  but  took  her  dumb- 


124  CASA  GRANDE 

ness  as  an  admission  of  his  charge,  and  he  ex 
claimed  :  "You've  pretended  all  along  to  hate  him !" 

She  wrenched  herself  free,  and  unconsciously 
brushed  her  fingers  over  where  he  had  gripped  her, 
as  if  his  touch  had  soiled.  When  she  had  somewhat 
controlled  the  heaving  of  her  breast,  she  replied,  her 
voice  still  shaking : 

"I've  never  known  him  to  do  a  cowardly  thing !" 

Her  quietness  made  the  emphasis  she  had  thrown 
on  "him"  show  the  man  beside  her  what  he  had  been 
guilty  of.  It  flashed  on  him  how  justly  she  had 
spoken,  how  brutal  he  must  appear  to  her,  and  he 
dismally  confessed : 

"You're  right — I  didn't  know.  But  you've  been 
in  my  thoughts  for  weeks,  months — slipping,  slip 
ping  away.  Now  I've  lost  you.  I'm  not  fit  to  be 
here!  Good-bye,  Belle — sweetheart!" 

She  impulsively  clung  to  him.  "Don't  go  to 
night.  Wait  till  morning.  I've  been  hasty — harsh. 
Won't  you  come  in  ?" 

"No,  girl.  Let  me  go.  The  pity  of  it  is,  you  are 
right ;  I  know  you're  right !" 

"I  can't  let  you  go  this  way,  Sam.    Wait  till  to- 


HE  GAVE  ME  NO  ANSWER  125 

morrow.  We'll  both  see  our  duty  clearer  in  the  day 
light — after  a  night's  rest." 

He  yielded,  unconscious  that  her  spirit  usually 
dominated  his — wherein  lay  her  advantage.  Therein 
also  lay  her 'danger.  She  was  undeveloped  as  yet, 
but  when  she  should  be  tried  in  the  heat  of  life's 
endeavour  she  would  prove  to  be  immeasurably  his 
superior.  Between  now  and  then,  in  the  callowness 
of  inexperience,  she  most  likely  would  choose  a  man 
who  could  be  dominated,  rather  than  one  who  would 
dominate. 

A  joyless  group  gathered  in  the  little  cabin,  wait 
ing  for  bedtime.  Bailey  was  struggling  to  readjust 
himself.  He  long  had  felt  that  the  girl  was  growing 
away  from  him,  but  when  he  had  been  able  to  put 
aside  feeling  reason  assured  him  that  she  could  do 
no  better  than  marry  him.  The  question  of  adapta 
bility  had  not  challenged  him.  He  had  taken  it  as 
a  matter  of  course,  for  his  soul  was  not  clamorous. 
Now,  however,  he  had  wakened  to  the  reality,  and 
life  was  standing  still.  The  coveted  rose-garden 
was  neither  for  him  nor  for  her  neighbour. 

Mrs.   Clark  studiously  observed  the  two  young 


126  CASA  GRANDE 

people.  For  some  time  she  had  regretted  the  change 
in  Belle's  manner  toward  Bailey,  and  she  easily 
divined  the  cause.  There  was  no  doubt  of  the  sheriff. 
He  was  one  of  them,  and  he  had  made  no  secret  of 
his  regard.  But  the  other  man — with  the  air  and 
tastes  of  a  gentleman — what  were  his  intentions? 
She  could  not  reason  it  out,  but  her  traditions,  her 
intuitions,  warned  her  from  his  familiarities. 

And  yet  a  half- formed  thought  persisted  in  her 
dreaming  fancies.  What  if  he  should  make  Belle 
his  wife!  The  possibilities,  the  delight,  were  beyond 
imagining.  Such  unions  had  been  known — even  in 
her  humble  circle — and  why  not  Belle?  Great  as 
was  her  maternal  pride,  it  had  some  justification  in 
the  girl's  graces,  her  resoluteness  and  her  sweetness. 
All  night  long  the  mother  dreamed  of  it. 

Next  morning  was  an  auspicious  dawning  of  bird- 
songs  and  balmy  odours  and  flooding  sunlight.  The 
young  people  were  self-possessed  and  apparently 
merry  again,  alert  to  avoid  any  reference  to  the  hap 
penings  of  last  night — even  Miller's  name  being 
carefully  ignored. 

Wash  came  late  to  breakfast.     He  had  ridden  to 


HE  GAVE  ME  NO  ANSWER  127 

Casa  Grande  with  the  message  that  a  cow  had  calved 
outside  the  wall  near  their  place.  As  soon  as  there 
came  an  opening  in  the  somewhat  flippant  talk,  the 
matter  that  Bailey  and  Belle  had  tried  all  morning 
to  avoid  was  introduced  by  Wash. 

The  subject  of  most  interest  to  the  boy  was  the 
man  he  admired  above  all  others  and  that  man's 
doings ;  so  Bailey  was  told  of  the  attack  on  the  In 
dian  harvesters.  His  mother  twisted  it  into  a 
different  story.  Then  Bailey  repeated  what  he 
had  heard,  and  all  laughed  at  the  numerous  contra 
dictions. 

The  visitor  tilted  back  his  chair  and  said,  good- 
humouredly :  "We  haven't  yet  heard  the  true  story. 
The  settlers  don't  tell  it,  and  Miller  won't." 

"No,  Miller  won't,"  echoed  Mrs.  Clark.  "If  it 
hadn't  been  for  fear  of  his  money  they'd  have  broken 
him  in  two !" 

"Who  told  you  that?"  demanded  Belle,  with  un 
necessary  warmth. 

"Good  enough  authority,"  evasively  replied  her 
mother. 

The  girl  laughed  genially.    "I'll  tell  you  what  he 


128  CASA  GRANDE 

did.  Single-handed,  he  whipped  six  of  them  out  of 
the  field." 

"How  do  you  know?"  severely  questioned  her 
mother,  pushing  back  from  the  table. 

The  answer  came  deliberately.  "I  stood  on  the 
hill  this  side  of  the  big  house  and  saw  the  affair 
from  beginning  to  end.  Talk  about  his  being  afraid ! 
It's  childish.  He's  a  match  for  all  of  us — any  time 
— day  or  night." 

They  looked  at  her  in  surprise  as  she  rose  from 
the  table  and  flung  back  the  heavy  coil  of  hair,  but 
no  one  challenged  her. 

"I  wish  I  could  have  heard  what  they  said,"  she 
continued,  "but  I  was  only  close  enough  just  to  cover 
his  heart  with  the  sight  of  my  rifle." 

"Why  didn't  you  shoot?"  banteringly  asked 
Bailey. 

She  laughed  again,  with  a  shrug  of  such  utter  un 
concern  that  the  sheriff  smiled.  She  said  that  if  she 
had  shot  there  would  be  no  one  to  hate,  and  it  is 
very  convenient  to  make  some  one  the  butt  of  bad 
temper.  She  said  it  quite  cheerfully. 

The  speech  nettled  Bailey — the  words,  her  man- 


HE  GAVE  ME  NO  ANSWER  129 

ner,  her  tone,  he  could  not  say  which,  perhaps  all 
combined — and  he  abruptly  bade  them  good-bye. 
Belle  went  with  him  to  the  stable  and  waited  to  see 
him  off.  When  his  horse  was  saddled  he  held  out 
his  hand  to  her.  They  had  been  a  long  time  silent. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said.     "You'll  not  see  me  soon." 

She  let  her  hand  lie  in  his,  and  dejectedly  replied : 
"You  mustn't  desert  me,  Sam,  my  only  friend — the 
one  who  understands  me." 

"What's  the  use  ?    You  don't  care." 

"I  do.    As  much  as  for  any  one." 

"It  must  be  more  than  any  one.  Say  it,  sweet 
heart,"  he  coaxed,  as  he  put  his  arm  about  her. 

She  yielded  to  the  pressure,  but  her  eyes  regarded 
him  wistfully,  and  she  slowly  shook  her  head. 

"Good-bye,"  he  repeated,  and  swiftly  bent  to  kiss 
her ;  his  lips  fell  on  her  colourless  cheek. 

He  flung  himself  into  his  saddle  and  went  straight 
to  the  road,  across  the  bed  of  the  creek,  now  dry, 
and  up  the  grade  beyond,  never  once  looking  back. 

The  girl  remained  where  he  had  left  her,  and 
gazed  after  him,  with  drooping  arms  and  hands 
clasped  hopelessly. 


CHAPTER  IX 

I  RAISED  THEE  UP 

THE  cow  that  Wash  had  seen  in  Dry  Creek  was 
one  of  the  most  valuable  of  Miller's  herd,  and 
the  ranchero  himself  rode  out  to  fetch  her  home. 

The  year  before,  she  had  wandered  to  the  same 
place,  and  her  owner  now  had  little  trouble  in  finding 
her  and  the  calf  at  her  side,  milk-white,  with  a  few 
red  splotches,  in  shape  a  miniature  of  the  cow.  As 
the  man  walked  toward  them  the  youngster  stood 
with  tail  straight  out,  and  gazed  big-eyed  at  this 
strange  animal  approaching  without  protest  from  its 
dam.  It  was  still  too  wobbly  to  drive  down  hill,  so 
Miller  picked  it  up  and  carried  it  from  the  rocky 
nest  where  he  had  found  it. 

Near  the  bottom  of  the  decline  they  met  Belle  with 
a  rifle.  She  was  clad  in  the  half-Indian  costume, 

with  a  slash  of  red  here  and  there,  that  Bailey  had 

130 


I  RAISED  THEE  UP  131 

admired.  The  man  with  the  calf  in  his  arms  beheld 
the  girl  with  pleasure,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the 
bridle  lines  of  the  horse  he  was  leading  he  would 
have  fallen  when  he  stumbled. 

"Careful,  Mr.  Miller,"  she  exclaimed. 

He  set  down  his  burden  and  wiped  the  sweat  from 
his  face,  his  eyes  twinkling  as  he  asked,  "Are  you 
punning?" 

She  frowned  slightly,  not  comprehending. 

"I  didn't  understand  if  you  said  'careful'  or  'calf- 
full/  " 

"Mr.  Miller!"  She  spoke  the  words  with  a  fall 
ing  accent,  but  her  eyes  caught  the  twinkle  in  his. 
"I  didn't  know  that  men  said  such  things — only 
boys  and  girls,  I  thought." 

He  contentedly  fanned  himself  with  his  hat,  a 
figure  good  to  look  at,  clad  roughly,  but  appropri 
ately — dark-blue  from  hat  to  foot,  excepting  black 
top-boots,  and  a  red  silk  kerchief  knotted  with 
studied  care  about  his  throat.  There  must  have 
been  a  lurking  consciousness  in  the  minds  of  both 
that  their  personal  appearances  this  morning  were 
not  entirely  a  matter  of  chance. 


132  CAS  A  GRANDE 

At  any  rate,  he  was  glad  to  see  the  friendly  smile 
on  her  face,  although  she  had  spoken  deprecatingly 
of  his  attempt  to  make  her  a  punster,  and  he  good- 
humouredly  admitted  that  he  still  was  something  of 
a  kid. 

She  looked  approvingly  at  him,  then  at  the  calf, 
and  remarked  that  he  had  carried  this  cow's  calf 
last  year  the  same  way. 

Her  speech  was  unconscious,  but  it  disclosed  that 
she  had  observed  him  and  his  doings  long  before 
she  had  given  any  sign  of  interest.  She  must  have 
caught  the  feeling  in  his  glance,  for  her  lids  drooped, 
and  she  shouldered  her  rifle. 

They  sauntered  behind  the  slow-going  calf  and 
its  anxious  dam  and  led  the  horse.  Belle  opened 
the  gate  in  the  stone  wall  and  went  a  little  way  with 
them  along  the  trail  to  Casa  Grande.  She  proved  a 
gentle  herder,  very  patient  with  the  halting  calf,  and 
wise  in  animals'  ways.  He  wanted  her  to  go  on 
with  them,  but  she  had  her  own  task,  and  struck  off 
across  the  intervening  hills. 

She  wound  among  the  shady  oaks,  and  seemed  to 
glide  across  the  velvet  turf  ablaze  with  wildflowers. 


I  RAISED  THEE  UP  133 

As  long  as  she  was  in  sight  his  gaze  admiringly  fol 
lowed  her.  Never  before  had  he  beheld  so  lithe  and 
supple  a  tread.  Diana  might  have  walked  like  her, 
perhaps  looked  like  her,  had  the  girl  carried  bow  and 
arrows  instead  of  rifle. 

A  muffled  bawling  in  a  nearby  thicket  rudely 
brought  him  back  to  earth.  Some  beast  must  be 
after  his  cattle,  and  he  mounted  and  galloped  to 
where  the  sound  came  from.  In  a  manzanita  grove 
up  the  hillside  lay  a  yearling  steer  under  the  claws 
of  a  grizzly  bear.  In  front  of  the  bear,  and  out  of 
his  reach,  stood  a  young  bull,  the  most  promising 
son  of  Mad  Anthony — Cinnabar,  they  had  named 
him — a  bloody  gash  in  the  shoulder  telling  of  his 
spirit.  The  grizzly  also  bore  marks  of  battle — one 
of  his  eyes  swollen  shut.  He  must  have  been  tearing 
the  throat  of  the  steer  when  the  bull  unawares 
charged  and  struck  him.  Cinnabar's  horns  were  too 
short  to  inflict  serious  damage,  although  his  com 
pact  frame  and  swelling  neck  could  deal  a  fearful 
blow. 

The  bull  was  too  young  to  fight  for  the  lust  of 
combat,  as  did  his  sire,  and  the  blood  slowly  drip- 


134  CASA  GRANDE 

ping  from  the  gash  was  evidence  of  its  painfulness. 
Yet  he  stood  lashing  his  ribs  with  his  tail,  pawed  the 
dust  in  defiance,  and  cautiously  awaited  an  opening 
to  strike  again.  The  bear,  fearful  of  another  blow, 
crouched  over  the  steer  and  growled  savagely. 

Miller  was  without  arms  or  weapons,  save  his 
heavy  coiled  riata.  The  steer  was  hurt  beyond  mend 
ing,  and  the  man's  care  now  was  to  get  Cinnabar 
away  from  danger.  He  rode  close  to  the  combat 
ants,  his  mount  almost  unmanageable  from  fear  of 
th~e  bear,  and  brought  down  the  rawhide  rope  on  the 
bull,  which  immediately  charged  at  the  horse  and 
drove  him  into  the  brush. 

The  ranchero  returned  to  the  rescue,  this  time 
more  warily.  Before  he  could  spur  the  trembling 
horse  close  enough  to  swing  again  at  the  bull,  the 
cow,  which  had  been  left  in  the  hollow  below,  at 
tracted  by  the  bellowing  of  the  wounded  steer, 
dashed  excitedly  through  the  undergrowth,  struck 
the  bear  in  the  back  and  hurled  him  headlong.  As 
she  wheeled  to  strike  again,  the  bawling  of  her  off 
spring,  left  alone  in  an  unfamiliar  spot,  fell  on  her 
ears,  and,  instead  of  charging  the  bear,  she  galloped 


I  RAISED  THEE  UP  135 

past  Miller  and  disappeared  in  the  direction  she  had 
entered. 

The  grizzly,  furious  with  rage  and  pain,  regained 
his  footing  in  time  to  see  the  cow  pass  Miller.  The 
brute's  fighting  blood  was  stirred,  and  he  plunged 
after  her.  Miller,  now  between  the  two,  wheeled 
and  fled,  the  bear  following.  The  rider  kept  easily 
out  of  reach  and  led  the  pursuer  toward  Casa 
Grande,  where  he  was  sure  of  Manuel  and  his 
rifle. 

The  ranchero  held  his  mount  as  close  as  he  dared 
to  the  grizzly,  for  fear  the  brute  would  return  to 
his  unfinished  dinner  and  the  young  bull.  Pursuer 
and  pursued  kept  steadily  on  their  way,  the  horse 
turning  his  head  first  to  one  side  and  then  the  other, 
timidly  watchful.  The  bear  lumbered  awkwardly 
over  the  ground,  but  with  surprising  swiftness. 

They  had  reached  the  level  of  the  valley,  and 
Miller  guided  the  horse  to  skirt  the  base  of  the  hill. 
Both  were  watching  the  bear  more  closely  than  they 
noticed  the  trail,  as  he  now  was  running  easier.  A 
dry  water  course  lay  ahead,  and  before  the  horse  ob 
served  it  he  made  a  false  step  and  fell. 


136  CASA  GRANDE 

Miller  was  stunned  for  an  instant;  then,  like  a 
flash,  he  realised  his  danger  and  tried  to  rise.  The 
terrible  pain  in  his  leg  warned  him  that  something 
was  wrong.  Pull  and  twist  as  he  would,  he  could 
not  withdraw  his  foot  from  under  the  horse,  which 
he  struck  a  stinging  blow  with  the  riata ;  the  animal 
tried  to  get  up,  but  could  not.  It  lay  with  feet  up 
the  rising  ground,  and  its  plunging  and  straining 
served  only  to  move  its  body  farther  on  the  rider's 
leg  and  the  more  securely  pin  him  down. 

It  was  of  no  use.  The  grizzly  saw  the  plight  of 
the  fugitives  and  came  swifter ;  the  man  could  hear 
the  swish  of  claws  cutting  into  the  turf.  The  thought 
that,  after  all  his  dangers,  he  must  die  like  some  wild 
thing  torn  by  a  fierce  beast,  bitterly  smote  him,  but 
he  lay  back  quickly,  his  face  turned  from  the  sullen 
brute,  now  almost  on  him.  He  seemed  to  catch  the 
quick  breathing  of  the  bear ;  he  thought  each  oncom 
ing  footstep  the  last,  and  his  nerves  were  tensely 
keyed  for  the  final  plunge,  the  cruel  teeth. 

What  sound  was  that  ?  A  crack  had  rent  the  air — 
then  silence,  as  if  nature  itself  stopped  to  listen. 
Could  it  have  been  a  rifle  shot?  Miller  painfully 


I  RAISED  THEE  UP  137 

turned.  Not  ten  feet  away  lay  the  bear,  dead.  The 
man  twisted  his  body  to  gaze  behind  him,  up  the  hill. 
Her  moccasined  tread  was  too  light  to  be  heard,  but 
he  caught  the  flutter  of  her  skirt.  And  then  she  was 
at  his  side,  her  gun  ready  if  the  grizzly  moved.  The 
thick  folds  of  her  blue  waist  failed  to  conceal  the 
heaving  of  her  breast,  and  in  her  glance  were  concern 
and  relief. 

"I  knew  it  was  you !"  he  exclaimed,  ineffectually 
pulling  to  free  his  leg.  "One  more  nail  to  crucify 
me  with." 

She  waited  before  she  replied,  her  eyes  frankly 
turned  to  his.  "No,  I  don't  care  enough  to  crucify 
you.  But  I'll  help  you  up."  She  laid  the  rifle  on 
the  ground  and  caught  the  horse  by  the  bit. 

"Easy,  Belle,"  he  called,  as  the  animal  began  to 
plunge. 

"Your  leg's  broken !"  she  cried. 

"No,  I  think  not — I  hope  not."  Again  he  tried 
to  move.  "His  whole  weight  seems  to  be  on  my 
foot,  though.  Will  you  fasten  him  so  he  can't 
plunge  ?" 

She  deftly  bound  the  riata  about  the  horse's  legs, 


138  CASA  GRANDE 

and  when  finished  he  was  as  securely  tied  as  any 
vaquero  could  fasten  him.  "Now  I'll  have  to  pry 
him  off.  And  not  a  stick  in  sight."  She  picked  up 
her  rifle  and  drew  out  the  load,  shoved  the  long, 
heavy  barrel  under  the  horse's  flank  and  pulled  up 
on  the  stock.  The  weight  lifted  a  little  from  Miller's 
leg. 

"That's  good.    Try  once  more." 

Again  and  again  she  pried.  His  heavy  boot  ap 
peared  to  catch  in  the  animal's  ribs,  preventing  the 
man  from  drawing  it  clear.  Once  more  she  pushed 
the  barrel  under  the  horse ;  one  more  lift,  and,  with 
a  twist  and  a  snap,  the  cramped  leg  was  withdrawn. 

"There  goes  my  rifle  1"  She  regretfully  held  up 
the  broken  stock. 

"Never  mind.  There  are  half  a  dozen  on  the 
wall  in  my  room.  Take  your  choice." 

She  slowly  shook  her  head,  and  told  him  that  it 
had  been  her  father's  trusted  weapon.  There  wasn't 
its  equal  in  the  county. 

He  sat  near  the  quiet  horse,  rubbed  his  freed  leg, 
and  smiled  at  this  trace  of  fetichism.  "Give  it  to 
me,  then ;  I'll  have  a  new  stock  put  on  it." 


I  RAISED  THEE  UP  139 

"We're  under  enough  obligations,"  she  answered, 
with  a  touch  of  bitterness. 

"Not  after  to-day.  The  crack  of  your  rifle 
changed  all  that." 

"Pooh !"  she  exclaimed,  in  some  confusion.  "Be 
cause  I  shot  the  bear?  For  all  we  know,  he  would 
have  been  satisfied  with  the  horse,  especially  if  you 
had  kept  still." 

"Any  way  you  please,  Belle.  Just  the  same,  the 
debt  can  be  repaid  only  one  way.  A  life  for  a  life, 
you  know." 

"Let's  call  it  quits,  then.  The  world  is  wide 
enough  for  both  of  us."  She  paused  as  if  consider 
ing  what  to  say  next.  "You  are  good  and  kind,  in 
a  way.  But  I  never  can  forgive  your  taking  our 
home!" 

"I  offered  to  sell  the  land,"  he  argued. 

She  still  insisted  that  the  land  was  not  his  to  sell ; 
that  the  Government  had  done  wrong  in  deciding 
against  them ;  that  he  was  broad  and  liberal  enough 
to  have  righted  the  wrong. 

"If  we  had  been  in  your  class,  you'd  have  made 
us  a  deed,  and  said  nothing  about  pay." 


140  CASA  GRANDE 

He  gazed  curiously  at  her,  to  divine,  if  possible, 
the  exact  purport  of  the  rebuke,  but  her  face  was 
placid.  "Do  you  think  the  women  of  my  class  barter 
affections  for  houses  and  lands  ?" 

She  answered  that  she  wasn't  thinking  at  all  of 
affections,  but  of  rights. 

"Then  you  think  my  sense  of  justice  runs  to 
classes  ?"  His  tone  expressed  amusement. 

She  bent  over,  picked  up  the  barrel  of  her  rifle  and 
fitted  the  broken  parts  together,  but  did  not  answer. 

"I'll  not  defend  my  actions,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh. 
"I  thought  I  was  doing  right — I  still  think  so."  He 
absently  threw  a  handful  of  earth  on  the  motionless 
horse  beside  him.  "You'll  have  to  take  me  as  you 
find  me,  Belle — very  human,  with  no  sign  of  wings. 
For  which  I'm  thankful,  as  I  want  to  live." 

The  man's  self-forgetfulness  moved  her.  She 
knew  that  he  was  in  pain,  but  not  a  word  betrayed 
it.  She  knew  he  needed  help,  but  rather  than  ask 
it  he  would  suffer.  Her  old  resentment  gave  way 
for  a  time  and  she  offered  to  help  him  up. 

He  shook  his  head,  but  the  light  of  comradeship 
was  in  his  eyes.  He  rose  stiffly,  took  the  rifle-barrel 


I  RAISED  THEE  UP  141 

from  her  and  leaned  on  it.  "No  bones  broken,"  he 
said,  as  he  painfully  twisted  his  foot.  "Now  we 
must  get  the  horse  up."  He  limped  a  step  or  two, 
but  his  evident  distress  made  it  plain  that  he  could 
not  walk. 

She  took  the  loose  end  of  the  riata  that  bound 
the  animal,  stood  beside  him,  and  pulled  with  all 
her  strength ;  over  he  rolled,  his  feet  now  lower  than 
his  body,  and  as  soon  as  untied  he  sprang  nimbly 
up  and  snorted  at  the  dead  bear. 

"He  fared  better  than  you,"  she  observed,  as  she 
led  the  steed  to  the  cripple  and  helped  him  mount. 

Miller  eased  himself  in  the  saddle  and  imperi 
ously  held  out  his  hand.  "Now  give  me  your  rifle — 
barrel  and  stock." 

She  picked  up  the  broken  parts,  but  did  not  offer 
them  to  him.  The  note  of  command  in  his  voice 
nettled  her,  for  it  expressed  superiority.  Instead,  it 
was  prompted  by  a  feeling  of  comradeship,  which 
had  grown  rapidly  since  her  return  from  jail;  and 
had  he  not  just  passed  through  so  severe  an  ordeal 
his  tones  would  have  been  less  harsh. 

"Please,"  he  gently  urged,  as  she  turned  away. 


142  CASA  GRANDE 

"Good-bye/'  she  answered,  and  walked  stiffly  to 
ward  Dry  Creek. 

He  looked  after  her  with  surprise;  then  resent 
ment  ;  then  regret.  The  past  weeks  he  had  been  pic 
turing  her  as  sweet  and  fine,  but  she  was  hard  and 
coarse.  She  must  know  that  she  had  placed  him 
under  a  lasting  obligation,  and  she  scorned  his 
slightest  expression  of  gratitude.  He  had  not  yet 
learned  that  the  very  intensity  of  her  emotions  often 
made  her  cloak  them  under  an  assumed  rudeness. 

With  a  sense  of  depression  he  turned  toward  Casa 
Grande.  And  yet  Belle,  in  his  direst  need,  had  been 
gentle  and  resolute.  The  memory  of  all  she  just  had 
done  shamed  him,  and  he  impulsively  came  back. 

"You  can't  dismiss  me  with  good-byes,"  he  said, 
when  he  overtook  her. 

She  smilingly  extended  her  hand.  "The  sooner 
you  go  home,  the  better  for  your  leg." 

"That's  good  medicine,"  he  admitted,  as  he  clasped 
her  fingers.  "I'll  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

Once  more  they  parted — this  time  the  gladness  of 
life  throbbing  in  their  veins. 


CHAPTER  X 

BY  THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  THE  FLOCK 

IT  was  September  weather,  and  the  hills  were  yel 
lowing  under  a  burning  sun.  Buckeye  and  maple 
mixed  orange  and  crimson  in  their  foliage,  and 
clumps  of  poison-oak  glowed  ember-like.  Dead 
leaves  were  everywhere,  and  they  must  frequently 
be  cleaned  from  the  wooden  troughs  that  led  water 
out  of  the  Aguas  Frias  to  Casa  Grande. 

Nearly  two  months  after  the  injury  to  Miller's 
leg  he  walked  up  the  creek  to  look  after  his  water 
supply,  now  at  its  lowest.  He  was  armed  with  only 
a  shovel,  and  even  that  had  so  far  proved  unneces 
sary.  His  mind  was  serene  as  the  weather,  the  days 
having  brought  few  irritations,  with  the  warfare  of 
the  squatters  seemingly  at  a  truce.  He  hoped  he  at 
last  had  worn  out  their  resentment ;  he  knew  he  had 
tried  hard  enough. 


144  CASA  GRANDE 

As  he  stood  on  thebankof  the  shaded  stream,  lost  in 
day-dreams,  a  stone  rattled  down  at  his  feet.  Above 
him,  on  the  crest  of  the  ravine,  he  beheld  some  young 
cattle  browsing,  and  in  idle  curiosity  climbed  to 
them.  When  he  reached  the  top  he  gazed  with 
pleasure  at  the  well-fed  animals,  the  uniformity  of 
their  reds  and  whites.  Some  distance  away  Mad 
Anthony  Wayne  was  industriously  cropping  the 
grass,  whisking  flies  with  his  slender  tail,  and  pater 
nally  observant  of  all  about  him.  As  the  master  of 
the  ranch  climbed  into  view  the  roan  intently  re 
garded  him,  then  went  on  feeding,  quite  satisfied. 

The  indifferent  attitude  of  the  bull  did  not  long 
continue,  however.  He  alertly  threw  up  his  head 
and  gazed  toward  the  east,  his  ears  pricked  in  the 
same  direction,  his  breath,  as  he  took  the  wind, 
drawn  with  slow,  deep  sniffing.  He  had  detected 
something  beyond  the  reach  of  Miller's  duller  per 
ceptions,  and  moved  expectantly  forward. 

The  ranchero  followed,  out  of  curiosity,  and  pres 
ently  caught  the  low  bellowing  of  an  approaching 
bull.  At  first  he  concluded  that  it  must  be  one  of 
his  younger  animals,  already  lusting  in  the  sound 


THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  THE  FLOCK       145 

of  their  own  voices,  but  as  the  man  heard  the  full 
measure  of  the  challenge  he  decided  that  a  stranger 
was  invading  the  range  from  the  direction  of  Dry 
Creek. 

The  black  bull  of  the  squatters  was  first  in  his 
mind,  the  big,  active,  long-horned  scrub,  which  had 
watchfully  been  kept  away  from  his  own  herd  for 
more  than  a  year.  Now  that  the  invader  had  passed 
the  barrier  and  was  tramping  forbidden  soil,  what 
was  to  be  done? 

Miller  ran  ahead  of  Mad  Anthony  and  tried,  with 
a  flourish  of  the  shovel,  to  turn  him  back  toward 
Casa  Grande,  where  the  vaqueros  might  be  sum 
moned  to  drive  the  strange  bull  off  and  prevent  the 
threatened  combat.  But  the  big  roan  was  in  no  hu 
mour  to  be  turned  by  a  man  on  foot;  much  as  he 
loved  his  master,  he  loved  the  prospect  of  a  battle 
more,  snorted  defiantly,  and  shook  his  head  in 
warning. 

Miller  now  decided  to  drive  away  the  black  bull, 
fast  approaching,  and  ran  waving  his  shovel  at  the 
challenger.  The  intruder  was  more  dangerous  than 
Mad  Anthony  and  quite  as  eager  to  fight.  The  man 


146  CASA  GRANDE 

hurled  a  stone  at  him.  It  struck  his  arching  ribs 
and  bounded  into  the  air,  but  the  blow  only  mad 
dened  him,  and  he  charged  on  Miller  and  drove  him 
to  an  oak. 

The  horned  warriors  were  fast  coming  together, 
when  Belle  galloped  swiftly  after  the  invader.  She 
was  mounted  on  a  pony  full  of  life  and  intelligence, 
alert  to  every  motion  of  th~e  rider's  body.  He  ran 
with  head  lifted  high  and  shining  eyes  and  flowing 
mane;  she  sat  him  joyously,  horse  and  girl  a  picture 
of  nomadic  freedom.  A  riata,  looped  for  throwing, 
was  in  her  hand,  and  her  face  was  glowing  from  the 
chase. 

The  ranchero  feared  lest  she  might  lasso  the  black. 
If  she  did,  the  roan  would  surely  kill  him,  which 
must  bring  trouble  on  all  of  them.  He  jumped  from 
his  perch  in  the  oak  and  waved  his  hat  at  her. 

"Keep  away !"  he  cried. 

She  drew  rein  in  sudden  confusion,  and  her  first 
thought  was  that  he  might  blame  her  for  permitting 
the  intruder  to  come  on  the  ranch.  "He  got  through 
the  flood-gate  across  the  creek,"  she  said.  "I  didn't 
know  he  was  in  till  I  heard  him  bellow." 


THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  THE  FLOCK       147 

Miller  caught  the  defensive  note  in  her  voice,  and 
kindly  urged  her  to  keep  away  from  the  bulls.  It 
was  too  late  to  interfere;  the  only  thing  now  was 
to  give  each  a  fair  field  and  let  them  fight  to  the  end. 

"But  he'll  kill  Mad  Anthony!"  protested  the 
girl. 

"He'll  be  the  first  to  conquer  the  old  fellow,"  re 
plied  his  owner,  with  a  touch  of  vanity. 

"Look  at  his  horns,"  urged  Belle.  "It'll  be  like  a 
man  with  a  sword  fighting  a  man  with  a  knife !" 

"Yes;  Anthony's  horns  aren't  much,  but  see  that 
neck ;  isn't  it  magnificent !" 

"Come  and  get  on  my  horse,"  she  said,  lightly 
jumping  down,  with  a  hope  that  he  would  do  some 
thing  when  mounted. 

"No,  Belle;  stay  in  your  saddle.  If  we  interfere 
now,  it  may  cost  the  life  of  the  bull  we  bother.  There 
they  go,  anyway." 

The  antagonists  were  facing  each  other,  the  roan 
massive,  short-legged  and  furious,  the  black  wild, 
bony  and  alert,  with  the  advantage  of  being  up  the 
hill.  What  the  roan  gained  in  power  the  black  made 
up  in  activity.  The  one,  with  short,  strong  horns, 


148  CASA  GRANDE 

depended  on  striking  force;  the  other,  with  long, 
slender  horns,  depended  on  quickness  of  thrust.  If 
their  natural  weapons  had  been  equally  formidable, 
the  black  could  not  match  the  roan.  As  it  was,  the 
match  was  not  unequal. 

The  black  bull,  which  had  made  most  of  the  noise, 

grew  silent.    He  intently  watched  the  roan  and  cau- 

• 

tiously  prepared  for  the  attack.  The  ranchero's 
heart  throbbed,  for  the  invader  was  a  proved  warrior, 
fighting  his  way  down  the  ranges,  from  miles  to  the 
north,  and  conquering  all  antagonists.  Mad  An 
thony  always  had  been  protected  from  fights  with 
his  kind,  as  he  was  too  valuable  to  risk  against 
neighbouring  scrubs. 

But  the  roan  proved  quite  as  watchful  as  the 
black,  and  as  the  antagonists  paused  their  aspects 
typified  animal  hatred.  The  black  slowly  lowered 
his  head  till  his  horns  stood  straight  forward,  his 
small  eyes  glittering  like  gems.  He  pawed  the  dust 
into  the  air  with  long  sweeps  of  sinewy  legs ;  it  fell 
in  a  fine  cloud,  turning  his  coat  tawny.  He  snorted 
defiance,  and  as  the  other  bull  threw  up  his  head  the 
black  arched  his  supple  back  and  twisted  his  body 


THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  THE  FLOCK       149 

sidewise,  his  eyes  rolling,  foam  on  his  lips,  ready  for 
a  savage  lunge. 

Mad  Anthony  paid  no  heed  to  these  threats.  He 
saw  only  the  hated  intruder,  he  heard  only  the  de 
fiant  challenge,  and  he  knew  that  his  rights  had  been 
invaded.  One  alternative  only  was  possible:  he 
must  continue  master  of  the  range,  or  leave  his  bones 
to  whiten  on  the  hills. 

The  roan  did  not  paw  the  dust.  He  did  not  even 
snort.  He  walked  straight  at  his  foe,  the  flash  of 
his  glance  lurid  and  terrible.  He  stopped  as  if  to 
measure  the  distance  separating  them,  lowered  his 
head  and,  whipping  his  slender  tail  like  a  lash,  shot 
forward  and  struck  the  black  full  in  the  forehead, 
with  a  noise  like  the  crackling  of  a  sapling.  They 
paused  a  moment  with  locked  horns,  then  the  black 
cavorted  sidewise  as  he  backed  away,  unable  to  with 
stand  the  drive  of  the  roan's  mighty  sinews. 

In  the  fierce  scramble  to  separate,  the  bulls  had 
moved  round  the  oak,  so  that  Mad  Anthony  now 
was  up  the  hill,  the  black  slightly  below  him,  and 
they  stood  glaring  at  each  other.  Again  the  intruder 
pawed  the  dust;  again  he  snorted  and  twisted  his 


150  CAS  A  GRANDE 

body,  his  stout  black  tail  lashing  ribs  on  which  the 
sweat  of  battle  was  beginning  to  glisten.  He  moved 
uneasily  before  his  opponent ;  he  had  met  a  foe  that 
would  try  him  to  the  death.  He  wanted  to  avoid  a 
charge  head  on;  the  enemy  was  too  powerful  a 
striker.  He  must  play  for  the  other's  ribs ;  the  long, 
slender  horns  must  decide  the  battle.  If  he  could 
dodge  the  roan  sufficiently  to  catch  his  flank,  then 
would  be  the  opportunity  to  strike  the  blow  that 
more  than  once  had  left  him  master,  the  crimson 
insignia  of  victory  on  his  tapering  horns. 

Mad  Anthony  likewise  was  a  diplomat,  and  knew 
a  thing  or  two  about  fighting,  never  turning  his  eyes 
from  his  antagonist.  He  appreciated  that  this  battle 
hung  on  striking  force.  He  knew  the  uselessness  of 
his  short  horns,  watched  for  an  opening,  and  more 
cautiously  than  before  he  faced  the  black. 

The  other  bull,  step  by  step,  had  backed  down  the 
hill  until  he  could  feel  the  oak  behind  him  with  his 
switching  tail,  and  there  he  stood.  Both  heads  were 
lowered  again ;  again  Mad  Anthony's  tail  shot  out ; 
again  he  hurled  himself  at  the  black  and  struck  him 
full  between  the  horns.  The  sable  mass  recoiled 


THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  THE  FLOCK      151 

against  the  tree,  and  above  the  crash  of  meeting 
skulls  could  be  heard  the  sharper  crack  of  breaking 
bones.  When  the  dust  lifted,  Mad  Anthony  proudly 
shook  his  head  above  the  enemy,  which,  limp  and 
motionless,  lay  dead,  his  ebon  head  upturned,  his 
neck  broken. 

Miller  cautiously  approached  the  bulls  and  Belle 
rode  nearer.  There  was  a  fire  in  Mad  Anthony's 
eyes,  a  nervous  switching  of  the  tail,  that  showed 
him  still  unsafe. 

"Old  man,"  said  the  ranchero,  glancing  at  his 
favourite,  "you  slaughtered  him  like  the  warrior  you 
are,  but  the  devil  will  be  to  pay  for  this  with  the 
squatters !" 

The  bull  only  tossed  his  head,  and  walked  from 
under  the  shadow  of  the  tree.  He  looked  down  into 
the  valley  of  the  Casa  Grande,  and,  raising  his  voice 
in  three  mellow  bugle  notes  of  victory,  strode  back 
to  his  own. 

The  young  cattle  had  been  curiously  gathering 
about  the  fighters,  and  when  the  monarch  of  them 
all  turned  away  some  walked  up  and  sniffed  at  the 
dead  warrior.  They  could  not  know  of  death,  yet 


152  CASA  GRANDE 

a  wild  frenzy  seized  them,  and  they  fell  to  bellowing 
and  pawing  the  earth  and  leaping  and  hooking  at 
one  another. 

Miller  and  Belle  were  still  tinder  the  tree,  and  to 
remain  longer  would  be  dangerous.  The  man  turned 
to  the  girl  and  kindly  said :  "Now,  go  while  it's  safe. 
These  brutes  are  growing  frantic." 

"What  will  you  do?"  she  asked,  sitting  quite  im 
movable. 

"Climb  back  into  the  tree.    Go  quick." 

She  moved  her  horse  close,  withdrew  a  foot  from 
the  near  stirrup  and  said,  as  frankly  as  if  a  man: 
"Climb  up ;  Buck  will  carry  double." 

He  shook  his  head  half-doubtfully,  something 
swelling  in  his  throat.  She  was  a  comrade  to  be 
trusted  in  any  emergency,  without  a  thought  of  her 
own  danger.  A  more  frantic  commotion  than  usual 
among  the  cattle  rapidly  gathering  decided  him,  and 
he  vaulted  to  the  seat  behind  her. 

They  galloped  in  silence  to  the  crest  of  the  ravine 
of  the  Aguas  Frias.  Her  supple,  boyish  figure  op 
pressed  him  as  she  lightly  swayed  to  the  horse's  mo 
tion.  Loose  strands  of  hair  floated  in  his  face,  and 


THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  THE  FLOCK       153 

her  breath  carried  a  nameless  perfume.  The  lump 
in  his  throat  filled  tighter  as  he  thought  of  her  rest 
less  soul,  her  tireless  humanity,  her  unfaltering  cour 
age.  What  might  she  not  make  of  herself  with  op 
portunity!  As  she  drew  rein  and  glanced  happily 
at  him,  he  felt  that,  after  all,  she  could  become  as 
fine  as  the  woman  of  her  own  ideals. 

He  dismounted  and  stood  beside  her,  a  hand  on 
the  horn  of  her  saddle.  The  curves  in  her  lips  told 
that  she  expected  no  thanks  other  than  comradeship. 
It  was  not  sufficient  for  him,  however,  and  he  quietly 
said: 

"I'm  beginning  to  consider  you  my  protecting 
angel." 

"You  mustn't,"  she  hurriedly  replied.  "I'd  do  for 
any  man  what  I've  done  for  you.  Good-bye." 

She  wheeled  and  sped  away  to  Dry  Creek.  He 
watched  her  to  the  crest  of  the  hill.  As  she  plunged 
out  of  sight,  she  cast  a  swift  glance  backward. 


CHAPTER  XI 
UNTIL  THE  SHADOWS  FLEE  AWAY 

NOT  many  days  after  the  black  bull  of  the  squat 
ters  had  fought  his  last  fight  one  of  Miller's 
vaqueros,  riding  leisurely  along  the  trail  in  the  direc 
tion  of  Dry  Creek,  noticed  the  circling  flight  of  buz 
zards.  He  knew  what  their  presence  meant,  and 
soon  found  Mad  Anthony's  dead  body,  a  bullet 
wound  behind  the  shoulder. 

The  man  spurred  back  to  the  dwelling,  a  fleet  mes 
senger  of  death.  With  an  echoing  clatter  of  hoofs, 
he  galloped  into  the  stone-paved  courtyard  and  rang 
an  alarm  from  the  watch  tower.  A  dog  ran  out  of 
the  kitchen  and  howled. 

It  was  the  first  time  the  old  bell  had  sounded  an 
alarm  for  them,  but  the  beat  of  the  fluttering  tongue 
re-echoed  a  dirge  from  the  sloping  hills.  The  men 
galloped  up  with  sombre  faces  and  eyes  aglow,  their 

ponies  snorting  in  fear. 

'54 


UNTIL  THE  SHADOWS  FLEE         155 

A  sled  and  team  bore  the  dead  hero  to  the  shadow 
of  the  fig-trees  that  grew  between  the  house  and  the 
creek.  The  leafy  grove  had  been  his  accustomed 
protection  from  noontide  heat;  henceforth  it  would 
be  the  eternal  resting-place  of  his  dust. 

They  did  not  realise  what  a  dominant  life  he  had 
led  until  death  rode  him  down.  They  did  not  know 
what  space  in  human  regard  a  dumb  brute  can  fill 
until  his  going  had  left  the  void.  They  would  not 
admit  their  pride  in  him  until  he  was  driven  in  for 
the  final  rodeo. 

He  could  have  been  no  more  sincerely  mourned 
had  he  been  one  of  their  kind,  and  for  days  the  old 
house  was  desperately  gloomy.  Miller  forgave  the 
treachery  that  had  killed  their  favourite,  but  his 
vaqueros  were  less  impersonal,  and  he  feared  they 
might  forget  that  the  injunction,  a  life  for  a  life, 
applies  only  to  men.  He  took  the  precaution,  there 
fore,  to  have  them  leave  their  weapons  behind  when 
they  rode  the  range. 

It  was  a  welcome  relief  when  Bailey  came  to  dine 
with  them  a  week  after  Mad  Anthony's  funeral.  He 
had  heard  of  the  bull's  death,  and  he  feared  the  re- 


156  CASA  GRANDE 

suit.  He  needed  to  ask  few  questions  when  the  sub 
ject  was  discussed,  and  by  the  time  the  meal  was 
over  no  doubt  remained  in  his  mind  how  the  inmates 
of  Casa  Grande  felt. 

The  guest  lingered  at  the  table  to  hear  what  Miller 
would  say.  The  master  of  the  range  was  less  com 
municative  than  his  men,  and  an  air  of  oppression 
kept  him  unusually  silent. 

"I  hope,"  said  Bailey,  "that  you're  not  going  to 
retaliate." 

"Oh,  no.  I'm  too  busy  restraining  my  men. 
You'll  notice  that  they  ride  without  arms/' 

"It's  curious  that  the  squatters  should  have  held 
your  bull  answerable  for  killing  theirs." 

Miller  gloomily  replied  that  it  was  not  the  bull 
they  were  after,  but  his  master. 

Bailey  asked  if  the  master  had  been  doing  any 
thing  worse  than  usual. 

Miller  reluctantly  admitted  that  he  had  pre 
vented  their  exchanging  calves  on  one  of  his  best 
cows. 

Bailey  was  alert  at  once,  and  wanted  to  know  how 
Miller  had  prevented  the  exchange. 


UNTIL  THE  SHADOWS  FLEE         157 

"I  came  on  the  man  as  he  was  about  to  brand  my 
calf,  and  I  warned  him  not  to." 

"Warned  him!    Pull  a  gun  on  him?" 

"No.    I  told  him  it  was  my  calf." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

Miller  smiled  a  little.    "He  told  me  I  lied." 

"Pull  your  gun  then?" 

"It  would  have  been  one  against  twenty  if  I  had." 

"What  did  you  do,  then?" 

"I  urged  him  to  think  about  it — to  wait  till  next 
day." 

"A  hell  of  a  proposition !"  exclaimed  Bailey,  nois 
ily  laughing. 

Miller  did  not  smile.  He  said,  however,  that  the 
calf  came  back,  unbranded,  to  the  range.  But  he 
would  rather  have  lost  a  hundred  calves  than  Mad 
Anthony. 

"Was  their  bull  on  your  range  when  he  got 
killed?" 

"Yes.    He  came  hunting  trouble." 

"Did  any  of  them  see  the  fight?" 

Miller  hesitated.  He  regretted  to  drag  Belle  into 
the  discussion,  but  it  was  better  that  Bailey  should 


158  CAS  A  GRANDE 

have  the  story  at  first  hand,  and  the  ranchero  evenly 
answered : 

"Belle  Clark  was  there." 

Bailey  keenly  regarded  his  host.  The  answer  had 
been  given  frankly,  yet  this  was  his  first  intimation 
of  the  girl's  presence  on  the  scene.  "What  was  she 
doing  there  ?"  The  sheriff  asked  the  question  curtly. 

Just  as  evenly  as  before  came  the  answer:  "She 
was  after  the  black  bull." 

Bailey  rose  and  paced  the  floor  a  turn  or  two. 
"Do  you  think  it's  fair,  Miller  ?  Here  she  is  watch 
ing  bull-fights  with  you.  The  other  day  she  shot  a 
grizzly  chasing  you  and  got  your  horse  off  your  leg. 
Where  will  it  end?" 

The  master  of  Aguas  Frias  felt  his  pulse  quicken 
at  the  insinuation,  but  he  looked  charitably  at  Belle's 
self-constituted  champion,  and  asked,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye : 

"Shall  I  forbid  her  the  range?" 

Bailey  threw  himself  on  the  bench  beside  the  table, 
and  rather  moodily  answered :  "I  suppose  I'm  inter 
fering."  He  remained  silently  studying  the  floor, 
and  at  length  observed :  "She's  a  good  girl." 


UNTIL  THE  SHADOWS  FLEE          159 

Miller  did  not  answer.  His  guest's  remark  im 
plied  that  the  ranchero's  influence  might  be  question 
able.  It  was  a  matter  too  personal  for  present  dis 
cussion,  and  especially  since  his  own  conscience  was 
clear.  Bailey,  exasperated  by  the  host's  poise,  rose 
to  go,  and  asked,  as  he  reached  for  his  hat :  "Was 
Belle  at  the  rodeo  when  you  warned  the  squatter  not 
to  brand  your  calf?" 

"No.  But  I  saw  her  that  day.  I'm  always  glad 
to  see  her." 

"I'm  sure  of  that  without  your  telling." 

"You  mustn't  grudge  the  few  enjoyments  of  my 
range  life,  Bailey;  especially  as  your  own  visits  to 
her  have  been  rather  far  between  of  late." 

The  sheriff  looked  hard  at  the  ranchero.  He  was 
disposed  to  resent  this  criticism,  but  he  quickly  re 
membered  that  he  had  spoken  quite  frankly  of 
Miller's  doings,  and  his  host  had  set  him  an  example 
in  courtesy.  The  visitor  replied,  therefore,  without 
irritation : 

"Perhaps  I  have  been  negligent.  I'll  go  over  to 
Dry  Creek  on  my  way  back  to  town." 

"And,  Bailey,"  called  Miller,  in  friendly  tones, 


160  CASA  GRANDE 

"don't  take  too  much  for  granted.  Don't  take  any 
thing  for  granted." 

"Not  even  what  I  see?"  demanded  Bailey,  with 
the  suspicion  of  a  smile  on  his  face. 

"That  depends  on  how  well  you  can  see.  Good 
bye." 

Late  that  afternoon  Bailey  returned  to  Casa 
Grande,  and  asked  Miller  to  ride  a  little  way  with 
him  on  the  road  to  town. 

When  the  friends  were  jogging  easily  side  by 
side,  Bailey  told  hCs  companion  that  he  just  had 
given  Belle  quite  a  lecture.  "I  think  I  made  her  un 
derstand  she  must  stop  chasing  round  after  you." 

"You  expressed  yourself  somewhat  forcefully,  I 
judge." 

Bailey  laughed  with  amusement.  "I  didn't  use 
just  those  words.  But  you  must  admit,  old  man, 
that  things  can't  go  on  as  they  have  been." 

"Are  you  thinking  of  the  girl,  or  of  yourself,  or 
of  me?" 

"The  girl,  of  course,"  replied  Bailey,  nettled.  He 
was  catching  a  more  impersonal  glimpse  of  his  own 
actions. 


UNTIL  THE  SHADOWS  FLEE          161 

Miller  smiled.  "I  didn't  know  that  disinterested 
ness  is  so  prominent  a  trait  in  your  character." 

"The  devil  you  didn't !" 

Miller  checked  Peggy  and  quizzically  regarded 
his  companion.  "I  understood  that  you  invited  me 
to  ride,  not  to  lecture  me." 

Bailey's  jaw  relaxed  an  instant,  then  his  face 
lighted.  "Come  on.  What's  the  use  of  getting  mad  ? 
You  know,  all's  fair  in  love  and  war." 

"Now  that  I  know  what  you  consider  fair,"  re 
joined  Miller,  riding  along  again,  "I'll  not  be  so 
greatly  shocked."  ^ 

The  sheriff  insisted,  however,  that  his  long  friend 
ship  for  the  family  gave  him  a  right  to  explain  to 
Belle  what  the  proprieties  demand  of  a  young  girl, 
and  he  had  taken  no  unfair  advantage. 

"Your  purpose  is  kindly  enough,  but  I  mistrust 
your  methods — to  say  nothing  of  the  reflection  on 
my  motives." 

"What  are  your  motives  ?"  Bailey  asked  the  ques 
tion  rather  guiltily. 

Miller  smiled  at  his  companion's  insistence,  and 
answered :  "As  I  said  the  other  day,  quite  friendly." 


162  CASA  GRANDE 

"I've  blundered  again/'  said  Bailey,  and  held  out 
his  hand. 

"No,  Sam,  you've  been  their  good  friend.  But 
don't  force  the  girl  to  do  consciously  what  so  far  has 
been  prompted  by  merely  her  native  impulsiveness." 

The  men  parted,  and  Miller  rode  lightly  home 
ward.  The  last  whistling  of  larks,  the  mourning  of 
doves,  the  quidado  of  quails,  with  the  soft  air  and 
the  breath  of  the  meadows,  soon  brought  forgetful- 
ness  of  his  irritation  at  Bailey.  When  he  reached 
his  own  range  he  turned  aside  to  the  line  of  stone 
wall  to  see  if  any  trespassers  had  come  in.  The  sun 
had  set  and  shadows  were  deepening  as  he  neared 
the  brow  of  the  hill  overlooking  Dry  Creek. 

He  had  not  proceeded  far  when  he  detected  some 
animals  running  swiftly  from  the  direction  of  the 
floodgate.  They  at  first  appeared  like  three  gallop 
ing  horsemen,  but  as  he  drew  nearer  he  saw  that 
one  was  his  bull  Cinnabar,  the  other  two  chasing  the 
bull  at  top  speed  and  flogging  him  with  the  loops  of 
their  riatas.  The  young  animal  ran  as  if  terrified, 
and  the  skilful  riders  hung  to  his  flanks  and  be 
laboured  him. 


UNTIL  THE  SHADOWS  FLEE          163 

The  recollection  of  Mad  Anthony  was  yet  too  sen 
sitive  to  tolerate  the  persecution  of  this  other  favour 
ite,  and  the  ranchero  forgot  his  resolution  of  self- 
control  and  gave  chase.  Peggy  knew  what  was 
wanted,  and  never  had  she  run  freer.  The  two 
herders  separated  as  soon  as  aware  of  pursuit,  and 
Miller  followed  the  nearer  one. 

The  ranchero  was  dimly  conscious  of  something 
familiar  in  the  motion  of  the  fleeing  horse  and  the 
swaying  rider,  but  he  was  blinded  to  every  impulse 
but  resentment.  He  leaned  to  his  own  mount,  urg 
ing  her  still  faster,  and  when  the  fugitive  fell  to 
whipping  his  own  steed  the  man  in  pursuit  smiled 
grimly.  It  was  a  splendid  race.  Peggy  clung  to  the 
stirrup  of  the  trespasser;  with  ears  laid  back,  she 
reached  the  horse's  shoulder,  then  ran  even  with  him, 
nose  to  nose. 

Miller  bent  over  and  gathered  the  man  beside  him 
in  his  arm,  and  braced  himself  to  lift  the  slight  figure 
clear  of  the  saddle.  Something  soft  and  yielding 
in  the  form  made  him  hesitate,  set  his  heart  to 
pounding,  and  he  suddenly  reached  with  his  other 
hand  and  checked  his  captive's  horse. 


164  CASA  GRANDE 

They  were  standing  at  last.  The  quick,  hard 
breathing  of  their  mounts  was  the  only  sound,  save 
the  throb  of  Miller's  heart,  and  it  vexed  him  to 
think  that  the  captive  in  his  arm  must  feel  it,  too. 
He  tried  to  speak  evenly,  but  his  voice  quivered  as 
he  exclaimed :  "What  do  you  mean?'* 

The  figure  he  clasped  rested  with  averted  face, 
and  did  not  answer,  except  the  trembling  of  the  body 
shrinking  closer  to  him.  As  he  twisted  the  tres 
passer's  face,  he  caught  the  perfume  of  her  breath, 
and  felt,  rather  than  heard,  her  long-drawn  sigh. 

"Belle !"  he  said.    "How  could  you  ?" 

She  neither  moved  nor  answered,  but  unfalter 
ingly  met  his  gaze. 

"I  wouldn't  have  believed  it,"  he  unhappily  re 
marked,  then  loosened  his  hold  on  her  and  straight 
ened  in  his  seat. 

She  caught  the  distress  in  his  manner  and  roused 
at  last.  "I  meant  no  harm.  Mr.  Miller,  I  didn't! 
I  didn't !"  Her  breath  was  drawn  quickly. 

He  leaned  on  his  hands,  crossed  over  the  pommel, 
his  eyes  downcast. 

"Cinnabar  has  been  coming  to  our  side  every  day 


UNTIL  THE  SHADOWS  FLEE          165 

since  the  black  bull  was  killed."  She  spoke  impet 
uously,  eager  to  justify  herself.  "We've  driven  him 
back  regularly.  To-night  we  were  trying  to  scare 
him  so  he  wouldn't  come  again.  Ask  Tom." 

Miller  turned  his  glance  to  the  approaching  figure, 
and  he  recognised  the  other  horseman — her  brother. 

The  ranchero  laughed  a  relieved  laugh  and 
straightened  his  drooping  shoulders.  "I'm  glad, 
Belle.  Hate  me,  if  you  must;  fight  me,  if  you  will 
— but  like  a  man,  as  you've  always  done,  not  like  a 
sneak!" 

Her  head  bent  down,  and  in  the  dim  light  he 
could  tell  by  the  movement  of  her  shoulders  that  she 
was  sobbing  in  spite  of  her  effort  not  to.  It  was  an 
unexpected  thrust,  and  proved  his  undoing.  He 
removed  his  hat,  wiped  the  sweat  of  discomfiture 
from  his  brow,  and  quickly  said : 

"I'm  ashamed  of  what  I've  just  done.  When  you 
judge  me,  however,  remember  the  stress  I've  been 
under  the  past  two  weeks." 

She  looked  up  shyly  at  him,  her  emotion  con 
trolled,  and  irrelevantly  remarked,  "You  frightened 


me." 


166  CASA  GRANDE 

"I  frightened  myself  when  I  found  it  was  you. 
What  shall  I  do  with  you  ?"  They  both  sat  musing, 
and  then  he  continued :  "I  told  Bailey  that  perhaps 
I  would  better  forbid  you  the  range.  What  do  you 
think?" 

She  took  up  her  bridle  lines  and  settled  firmly  in 
her  seat.  "Sam  Bailey  isn't  my  father  confessor." 

The  answer  was  not  what  Miller  had  expected, 
but  something  in  her  manner,  a  slight  toss  of  resent 
ment,  made  him. laugh  happily.  She  caught  the  in 
fection  and  laughed  with  him. 

"Clear  out,  now,  both  of  you.  If  my  cattle  stray 
on  you  again,  send  me  word — if  you  want  to  help 
me." 

All  the  way  home  he  could  feel  the  pressure  of 
her  body  against  his  arm,  and  he  resented  it.  He 
was  growing  to  look  for  her,  even  to  seek  her,  and 
it  was  time  to  halt.  He  had  been  too  long  on  the 
ranch,  had  thought  too  much  of  his  own  per 
plexities.  It  would  be  well  to  get  back  a  little  while 
among  his  own  people,  and  that  night  he  took  down 
his  travelling  case  and  overhauled  his  wardrobe. 


CHAPTER  XII 
rA  VERY  FLAME  OF  THE  LORD 

MOUNTAIN  streams  were  rising  again,  and 
among  sunburnt  boulders  of  their  lately  arid 
beds  shallow  waters  eddied  with  rippling  music.  The 
murmur  of  the  Aguas  Frias  droned  faintly  in  the  old 
house,  and  the  reservoir  behind  the  barn  overflowed 
once  more,  after  weeks  of  scant  supply.  Through 
the  pipes  that  led  to  the  courtyard  it  seemed  as  if 
the  melody  of  singing  eddies  were  hurrying  to  be 
played  in  the  splash  of  the  fountain  with  its  brim 
ming  stone  basin,  where  water  lilies  were  putting 
out  new  shoots,  goldfish,  confined  through  the 
drought  in  a  barrel,  were  flashing  in  and  out  of  the 
shadows,  and  birds  fluttered  and  cooled  their  wings 
in  the  rainbow  sprays. 

The  thick  haze  of  October  obscured  the  distant 

mountains.     The  spangled  carpet  of  spring,  now 

167 


168  CASA  GRANDE 

faded  to  honey-colour,  covered  the  earth  with  inflam 
mable  stubble.  The  chaparral  on  the  hills  and  the 
growth  along  waterways  were  shedding  their  leaves, 
which  the  wind  swept  into  heaps  ready  for  ignition. 
The  midday  sun  boded  forest  fires ;  a  pungent  odour 
of  smoke  was  everywhere,  and  the  drowsy  air  was 
haunted  by  a  presentiment  that  behind  the  purple 
haze  a  conflagration  might  be  smouldering. 

Miller,  refreshed  and  resolute,  was  back  again 
from  a  two  weeks'  visit  to  San  Francisco.  The  long 
drought  disturbed  him,  and  he  anxiously  watched 
the  heavily  timbered  eastern  hills.  A  fleecy  cloud, 
a  blue  film  hanging  over  their  crests,  filled  his  imagi 
nation  with  a  fear  that  the  forest  might  be  breeding 
another  fire,  as  in  years  past,  to  sweep  down  and 
destroy.  Every  morning  he  eyed  the  rising  sun  to 
find  some  sign  from  the  rain  clouds.  Every  night 
he  watched  the  sun  go  down  to  see  if  the  shadow  of 
a  storm  might  hasten  the  departing  light.  The  only 
shadow  on  the  sun  was  purple  haze;  the  only  har 
binger  of  a  storm  was  the  wind  that  rushed  fitfully 
down  the  hills,  scattered  dead  leaves,  and  as  fitfully 
died  away. 


A  VERY  FLAME  OF  THE  LORD    169 

The  anxious  month  had  worn  but  half  through 
when  the  dreaded  summons  came.  A  party  of  rev 
ellers,  on  their  way  to  Santa  Rosa,  stopped  in  front 
of  the  old  house  an  hour  before  midnight,  and,  find 
ing  their  only  welcome  the  barking  of  dogs,  joined 
unsteady  voices  in  a  drinking  song  so  persistently 
repeated  that  the  sleepy  inmates  were  forced  to  show 
themselves.  When  all  had  come  outside,  the  real 
purpose  of  the  visit  was  evident,  for  above  the  eastern 
hills  flames  glowed  steadily,  as  if  the  big,  yellow 
moon  were  climbing  the  wooded  crests. 

This  beginning  of  the  conflagration  was  not  a  for 
midable  sight.  To  those  who  never  before  had 
watched  these  forest  fires  it  seemed  as  if  a  few  pails 
of  water  might  extinguish  it.  But  to  the  men  al 
ready  at  the  top  of  the  hills,  who  were  fighting  to 
keep  the  flames  from  the  woods,  the  battle  was  hope 
less,  and  one  by  one  they  drew  away,  to  save  what 
they  could  of  their  homes  that  these  forests  sur 
rounded.  The  blaze,  like  the  headlight  of  a  distant 
locomotive,  appeared  to  creep  on  its  course  toward 
the  valley — in  another  hour  to  plunge  swiftly  down 
ward,  with  the  hiss  and  roar  of  numberless  trains. 


170  CASA  GRANDE 

Some  of  the  men  who  had  roused  the  sleepers  at 
Casa  Grande  remained  to  help ;  some  rode  to  waken 
other  sleepers ;  and  some  continued  to  town  and  told 
belated  stragglers  of  the  danger  that  threatened  the 
valley  of  the  Aguas  Frias.  Many  of  these  hastened 
to  the  scene  of  the  conflagration,  among  them  the 
sheriff,  who  was  leaving  the  jail  as  the  couriers 
arrived. 

While  the  fire  swept  downward,  the  knot  of  men 
at  Casa  Grande  grew  larger  as  volunteers  rode  in. 
They  fastened  their  horses  in  secure  places  and  gath 
ered  in  quiet  groups  to  discuss  former  fires  and  how 
they  had  been  fought.  All  knew  that  nothing  could 
be  done  till  the  flames  came  close  except  watch  the 
fiery  brands  that  drifted  down  from  the  furnace 
above.  It  was  these  noiseless,  blazing  meteors  that 
must  be  guarded  against,  light  branches  snapped 
from  a  burning  giant,  to  float,  like  toy  balloons,  away 
to  the  fields  below,  and  wherever  they  fell  the  tinder 
carpet  of  the  earth  became  a  river  of  flame  running 
swiftly  toward  the  valley. 

The  old  house  was  fireproof.  Tile  roof  and  adobe 
walls  gave  nothing  to  ignite,  and  the  dwelling  was 


A  VERY  FLAME  OF  THE  LORD    171 

left  by  itself.  The  barn  had  been  protected  by  plac 
ing  barrels  rilled  with  water  along  the  ridge  of  the 
roof.  The  great  stacks  at  the  feeding-sheds,  too, 
had  been  surrounded  by  wide  furrows,  to  save  them 
from  the  stubble  fires  that  might  be  started.  Had 
one  good  shower  fallen  during  the  past  two  weeks 
these  precautions  would  have  been  unnecessary. 

The  hot,  still  air  of  the  valley  lay  like  a  Stirling 
vapour.  The  fragrant  breath  of  the  night  wind  had 
expired.  The  echoing  voices  of  darkness  were  hushed 
in  expectancy.  Slowly,  stealthily,  the  booming 
flames  were  gathering  for  a  mighty  effort;  a  mo 
ment  more,  with  a  rush  and  a  roar  and  a  bound,  they 
would  hurl  themselves  into  the  valley. 

The  time  for  action  arrived  at  last,  and  the  volun 
teers  scattered.  Each  member  of  the  Casa  Grande 
household  was  armed  to-night,  for  fear  of  treachery. 
The  fire  would  pass  to  the  south  of  Dry  Creek,  and 
the  squatters  would  therefore  be  free  to  leave  their 
homes.  There  was  no  telling  what  they  might  do 
when  the  flames  had  burned  down  to  Aguas  Frias. 
Every  pistol  in  the  old  adobe  had  been  pressed  into 
use,  and  the  only  firearm  left  to  Miller  was  a  long- 


172  CAS  A  GRANDE 

barrelled,  highly  finished  revolver,  that  shot 
a  small  bullet,  but  carried  a  heavy  charge  of 
powder. 

A  guard  was  left  at  the  barn,  and  the  others  went 
down  to  the  feeding-sheds.  Miller,  on  his  mount, 
was  everywhere.  The  flames  on  the  hillsides  were 
rolling  nearer ;  they  seemed  to  leap  from  tree  to  tree, 
to  fling  great  sheets  high  up,  like  lurid  banners ;  and 
when  they  fell  back  again  the  darkness  would  glow 
with  mast-like  outlines  marking  the  wreck. 

It  was  the  trees  that  Miller  mourned,  as  he 
watched  the  racing  element  embrace  one  after  an 
other,  to  leave  them  in  ruins.  They  had  stood  god 
like  in  their  resistance  of  the  seasons.  Storms  had 
beat  upon  them,  the  sun  had  scorched  them,  frosts 
had  chilled  them ;  but  only  their  wrinkled  trunks  had 
recorded  the  fleeting  years.  They  had  passed  un 
harmed  through  centuries,  and  to-night  they  must 
yield. 

As  the  master  of  Aguas  Frias  was  grieving  over 
the  loss  he  heard  his  name  called,  and  he,  shouting 
in  answer,  soon  beheld,  in  the  day-like  glare,  Sam 
Bailey  riding  toward  him. 


A  VERY  FLAME  OF  THE  LORD    173 

"You  come  like  the  cup  of  cold  water,  old  man," 
was  his  greeting. 

"Your  voice  sounds  like  a  funeral,"  Bailey  re 
plied. 

"See  the  ruin  of  those  splendid  trees!" 

"That  much  more  firewood,  Miller." 

"You  can't  understand,  Bailey." 

"No,  I  can't.  If  we  mourn  to-night  over  nothing 
more  precious  than  trees  I  shall  be  glad.  What  can 
I  do?" 

"You'll  find  sufficient.    But  keep  close." 

The  roar  of  the  oncoming  flames  was  like  the 
boom  of  the  surf,  with  now  and  then  the  crash  of 
a  falling  tree.  The  heavens  reflected  the  light  in 
advancing  arcs  of  glowing  radiance  that  paled  the 
very  stars.  As  the  fire  rushed  steadily  downward, 
the  watchmen  could  distinguish  above  the  muffled 
thunder  the  whirr  of  frightened  quails,  while  blue- 
jays  and  woodpeckers  hastened,  screaming,  to  safer 
perches.  Now  and  then  a  deer  fled  past  with  terri 
fied  bounds,  and  smaller  dwellers  of  the  woods 
skulked  unmolested  in  the  shadows. 

The  wind  at  last  had  reached  down  to  them.    The 


174  CASA  GRANDE 

glowing  furnace  of  the  burning  woods  was  sucking 
into  its  mighty  draught  the  listless  atmosphere,  to 
blow  it  back  with  a  stifling  shower  of  firebrands,  driv 
ing  the  horsemen  to  and  fro,  like  swooping  eagles,  to 
beat  out  the  flames  marking  the  fall  of  burning  hail. 

The  fodder-sheds  were  surrounded  by  a  hay-field, 
matted  with  ripened  grass  that  had  been  kept  for 
late  grazing.  A  spark  fell  on  it,  and  a  blaze  flashed 
upward.  From  all  directions  the  men  swiftly  gath 
ered  to  the  help  of  those  already  fighting  to  save  the 
stacks.  With  dripping  sacks  and  blankets,  they  beat 
down  the  column  of  charging  flames,  and  in  the 
grime  and  dust  and  sweat  of  the  fierce  onslaught  the 
devouring  race  of  the  fire  was  ended. 

While  the  sooty,  panting  warriors  stood  resting 
after  their  struggles  a  glare  spread  upward  in  the 
direction  of  the  farthest  stack.  They  hastened  there 
and  found  it  burning,  and,  fight  as  they  would,  it 
gained  upon  them.  They  backed  away  at  last,  driven 
off  by  the  blistering  heat,  and  watched  the  great  heap 
melt  into  yellow  flame.  It  was  a  stirring,  a  depress 
ing  sight.  The  growth  and  the  labour  of  months 
were  flashing  out  in  invisible  gases,  the  subtle  ele- 


A  VERY  FLAME  OF  THE  LORD    175 

ments  of  the  atmosphere,  incarnate,  as  it  were,  in 
the  cured  hay,  now  resolving  themselves  back  to  the 
firmament. 

The  roar  on  the  hillsides  hushed.  The  glare  of 
the  flames  faded  behind  the  twinkle  of  stars.  The 
air  took  on  its  morning  chill.  Like  a  hopeless  spirit, 
the  fire  had  fled  down  the  hills  and  plunged  with  a 
moan  into  the  Aguas  Frias,  to  end  its  flight  in  the 
frosty  waters.  Some  pasture  and  one  stack  had  been 
destroyed,  but  no  treachery  had  been  committed. 

Miller  turned  thankfully  from  the  burned  stack, 
and  left  a  guard  to  protect  the  others,  now  safe  un 
less  the  wind  changed.  He  went  with  the  band  of 
tired  fighters  to  the  old  house,  where  a  light  gleamed 
from  the  open  door.  The  hospitable  room  soon  was 
filled  with  a  noisy,  sooty,  good-natured  mob,  all 
talking  at  once,  each  bragging  of  some  more  impos 
sible  feat  than  the  others.  The  centre  of  this  noisy 
circle  was  Manuel,  smiling  and  voluble,  filling  tins 
with  steaming  coffee.  The  table  was  spread  with 
the  remnant  of  the  evening  meal,  and  after  the  man 
ner  of  primitive  men  the  hungry  were  serving  them 
selves. 


176  CASA  GRANDE 

As  the  last  neighbour  rode  away  a  thin  segment  of 
moon  sailed  above  the  smoky  hills.  Instead  of  pale 
yellow,  it  shone  like  burnished  copper  through  the 
naked  limbs  of  blighted  trees.  Deep  shadows  still 
enfolded  the  dwelling  as  the  inmates,  after  a  final 
sortie  in  the  fields,  were  leading  their  tired  ponies 
to  the  barn.  They  had  not  proceeded  far  when  Gyp 
bounded  forward,  barking  furiously. 

"Something's  wrong,"  remarked  Miller,  peering 
into  the  gloom.  "She  never  acts  this  way  unless 
there's  danger." 

He  scarcely  had  finished  speaking  before  the  dog 
tore  back,  almost  beside  herself.  "Good  God!"  the 
ranchero  exclaimed,  bounding  to  his  saddle,  closely 
followed  by  the  others.  Their  hoofbeats  rang  on 
the  baked  earth,  and  suddenly  from  beyond  the  barn 
there  came  echoing  hoofbeats  which  clattered  on  the 
stony  bed  of  the  glen.  With  a  yell  the  men  dashed 
forward,  Miller  and  Bailey  on  one  side,  the  rest  on 
the  other  side.  As  the  master  of  the  range  gained 
the  rear  of  the  building  he  saw  a  shadowy  fig 
ure  running  from  a  blaze  against  the  wall  and 
melt  into  the  darkness,  a  signal  for  the  volley 


A  VERY  FLAME  OF  THE  LORD    177 

that  was  discharged  after  him  by  the  alert 
riders. 

The  fire  against  the  barn  lit  up  a  flickering  circle 
of  gloom  as  it  danced  and  crackled,  but  before  it 
had  eaten  into  the  hay  the  men  beat  it  out.  Then 
they  cautiously  advanced  into  the  glen,  where,  far 
up  the  creek,  they  could  hear  the  dog  bark.  They 
found  nothing,  however,  but  silence  and  blackness 
and  a  chill  air  pungent  with  the  odour  of  charred 
wood. 

As  the  wornout  group  were  leaving  the  barn  for 
the  house  Gyp  had  returned  and  was  barking  from 
the  edge  of  the  underbrush.  They  walked  quickly 
to  where  she  stood,  and  there  saw  the  prostrate  body 
of  a  man. 

"Aha!"  exclaimed  Miller.  "We  shot  wild,  but 
some  one  aimed  well." 

They  silently  gathered  about  the  obscure  figure, 
an  indifferent  crowd.  Some  treachery  had  been 
planned  under  cover  of  the  forest  fire,  and,  as  'far 
as  they  were  concerned,  the  dead  man  might  lie  till 
morning,  not  far  away,  now. 

"Well  ?"  observed  Bailey,  breaking  the  silence. 


178  CASA  GRANDE 

"We'll  take  him  to  the  house,"  said  Miller,  bend 
ing  down. 

They  carried  the  limp  figure  out  of  the  chill  air 
into  the  warmth  of  the  kitchen  and  the  glow  of  the 
candles.  As  they  passed  through  the  door  the  red 
moon  gleamed  ominously.  Below  the  gleam  of  the 
moon  was  a  first  streaking  of  dawn. 

They  crossed  the  room  and  carelesslyput  their  bur 
den  on  the  floor.  The  jolt  of  falling  knocked  off  his 
hat,  and  a  loosened  coil  of  wavy  black  hair  tumbled 
in  the  dust. 

Miller  flung  himself  down,  slipped  a  shaking  hand 
under  the  curving  shoulders  and  lifted  the  head  in 
the  hollow  of  his  arm  to  the  light.  His  gaze  hung 
aghast  on  the  white  face,  then  slowly  lifted  to 
Bailey,  who  was  staring  dreadfully. 

A  silence  fell  in  the  room,  the  very  dogs  pausing 
just  as  they  were.  The  sheriff  knelt  at  last  and  ten 
derly  clasped  a  lifeless  hand  in  both  his  own. 
"Belle !"  he  murmured,  and  put  his  face  caressingly 
on  the  unresponsive  tanned  fingers. 

Through  the  windows  the  distant  hills  lay 
streaked  by  the  first  beams  of  morning.  A  lark 


A  VERY  FLAME  OF  THE  LORD    179 

whistled  greetings  to  the  day.  But  neither  sunlight 
nor  birdsong  pierced  the  despair  shrouding  the 
gloomy  chamber. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  FOR  OUR  SISTER? 

THEY  laid  the  body  on  a  cot  in  the  corner,  and 
Manuel  fetched  a  blanket  and  reverently  com 
posed  and  decently  covered  the  boyish  form.  In  mov 
ing  the  head  he  touched  the  wound,  and  something 
hot  and  wet  ran  down  his  fingers.  He  bent  closer; 
the  cot  was  crimsoning. 

"Meestah  Jone!"  he  called.  "Es-she  no  dead. 
Look !"  His  voice  filled  with  suppressed  joy  as  he 
displayed  the  hand  that  had  been  against  the 
wound. 

Both  men  cast  a  startled  glance  at  the  stain  on  his 
fingers — at  him — at  each  other;  went  over  to  the 
blanketed  figure  and  stood  regarding  it,  their  hearts 
wildly  throbbing.  Something  could  be  done  for  her, 
then,  and  all  went  swiftly  to  work.  She  was  placed 
on  Miller's  bed,  a  vaquero  was  dispatched  for  her 

1 80 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  181 

mother,  and  Bailey  galloped  to  Santa  Rosa  for  the 
nearest  doctor. 

Two  hours  must  pass  before  help  could  reach 
them,  and  in  the  meantime  they  must  do  what  they 
could.  Manuel  brought  hot  water  and  towels,  and 
he  and  Miller  worked  anxiously  to  restore  Belle  to 
consciousness.  Had  it  been  a  wounded  man,  they 
would  have  proceeded  easily,  but  each  had  the  same 
chivalrous  tenderness  for  her  sex,  and  they  hesitated, 
the  one  regarding  her  with  the  throbbing  embarrass 
ment  of  full  vigour,  the  other  with  the  calmer  reluc 
tance  of  age. 

They  unfastened  her  garment  at  the  throat,  laid 
bare  the  dazzling  white  neck,  and  held  compresses, 
as  hot  as  they  could  bear,  against  the  wound  at  the 
base  of  her  skull.  As  soon  as  these  cooled  they  were 
renewed,  and  each  time  the  stain  was  more  pro 
nounced  on  them. 

The  two  men  had  been  striving  thus  with  death 
for  an  hour  or  more,  when  an  imperceptible  change 
in  her  countenance,  a  slight  return  of  colour  to  cheeks 
and  lips,  told  the  old  soldier  that  life  feebly  was 
starting  again.  He  clasped  her  wrist  and,  with  a 


182  CASA  GRANDE 

finger  on  her  pulse,  held  it  expectantly.  There  was 
the  merest  flutter,  only  the  noiseless  stir  of  a  soul, 
but  that  was  sufficient. 

"Christ!"  he  exultantly  exclaimed.  "Put  you 
feenger  here." 

When  Miller  found  the  throb  his  breath  came  in 
a  sigh.  He  did  not  speak,  but  the  look  he  gave 
Manuel  brightened  with  the  exultation  that  had  rung 
in  the  old  man's  words,  and  his  fingers  slipped  down 
over  hers.  Some  warmth  lingered  in  the  little,  work- 
hardened  hand  resting  unresponsively  in  his.  He 
glanced  at  her  face — started.  Manuel,  too,  bent 
closer ;  both  had  detected  a  tremble  of  the  lids. 

The  master  of  Casa  Grande  straightened  up.  He 
was  holding  her  hand  in  his,  too — grasping  it  with  a 
firm,  compelling  pressure.  Had  she  been  conscious, 
she  must  have  thrilled  to  him.  As  it  was,  her  soul 
must  have  stirred,  for  her  lids  fluttered  and  languidly 
opened,  then  closed. 

"Miller — Manuel,"  she  sighed,  and  they  knew 
that  she  had  seen. 

Miller  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  beside  the  bed,  a 
hand  still  clasping  hers.  Not  a  move  escaped  him ; 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  183 

not  a  breath  was  drawn  that  he  did  not  feel.  He 
had  time  to  think,  at  last,  and  his  crowding  emotions 
warred  with  one  another.  She  had  been  shot  on  his 
ranch,  with  his  consent,  however  ignorantly  given, 
however  keenly  regretted.  She  had  been  shot  while 
committing  a  crime,  a  cowardly  crime,  an  unpardon 
able  offence.  All  his  interest  in  her,  all  his  growing 
admiration,  suddenly  had  ended  with  the  discovery 
of  her  treachery. 

A  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the  courtyard  sent  him  to 
the  doorway,  where  he  met  Mrs.  Clark,  and  silently 
he  led  the  way  in.  Her  escort  had  informed  her  of 
the  shooting,  and  she  did  not  cry  out  at  sight  of  her 
daughter,  did  not  even  sob.  The  repressing  influ 
ences  of  frontier  life  had  long  subdued  the  feminine 
impulses  that  under  softer  conditions  are  usually 
vented  in  noisy  grief.  She  mutely  waited  by  her 
daughter's  side,  and  when  the  girl  slowly  opened 
her  eyes,  her  mother  tenderly  enfolded  her  and 
buried  a  tearless  face  in  the  tangled  mass  of  hair. 
Miller  pushed  up  an  easy-chair  for  the  newcomer, 
but  after  she  was  seated  he  caught  only  resentment 
in  her  eyes. 


184  CASA  GRANDE 

Constant  bandaging  had  brought  relief  to  the 
wound,  reducing  the  congestion,  and  the  next  time 
the  cloths  were  changed  the  bullet  showed  as  a  lump 
under  the  skin,  where  it  now  pressed  painfully.  Trie 
patient  twisted  her  head  uneasily  and  complained  of 
the  hurt. 

"You  are  wounded,"  Miller  explained. 

"I  remember,"  she  moaned.    "My  neck  aches  so." 

"The  doctor  will  soon  be  here." 

"It's  so  long,"  she  sighed. 

They  turned  her  in  a  new  position,  and  asked  if 
she  was  easier,  but  she  only  sighed  again. 

They  changed  the  compresses,  and  Manuel  care 
fully  examined  the  lump.  "Me  feex  him,"  he  con 
fidently  declared,  and  left  the  room,  to  return  with 
a  lance-like  instrument. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  demanded  Miller. 

"Cut  heem  out,"  was  the  answer,  with  boy-like 
eagerness. 

"You  are  not.    The  doctor  will  soon  be  here." 

"Me  dam*  good  es-surgeon." 

"I  know,  old  man.    But  she  isn't  a  soldier." 

"Let  him,"  said  Belle,  appealingly. 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  185 

"Me  do  heem  bery  easy/'  urged  Manuel. 

"Go  on,  Manuel/'  called  the  girl,  trying  to  turn 
herself. 

The  old  man  gently  and  deftly  removed  the  bullet, 
which  fell  to  the  floor,  to  be  forgotten,  for  the  time, 
in  more  pressing  necessities.  There  were  no 
anaesthetics  to  deaden  pain,  yet  the  only  sign 
she  made  of  suffering  was  the  tightening  of  her 
fingers  about  Miller's  as  he  stood  over  her,  one 
hand  holding  towels  for  Manuel,  the  other  clasping 
hers. 

When  the  operation  had  been  concluded  and  the 
last  bandage  fastened,  Miller  drew  back  with  notice 
able  relief.  The  acting  surgeon  looked  at  his  assist 
ant's  dry,  bloodless  lips,  his  cheeks  almost  ghastly 
beneath  the  crisp,  reddish  beard,  and  he  laughed 
softly.  He  knew  the  stress  the  master  had  been 
under,  but  the  old  soldier,  in  his  years  of  campaign 
ing,  had  lost  the  finer  edge  of  sympathy  for  unavoid 
able  pain.  "By  'n  by,"  he  lightly  remarked,  "you  old 
man  like  me,  woman  no  matter."  He  regarded  the 
patient  with  satisfaction,  glanced  at  his  companion, 
and,  in  the  way  of  final  compliment  for  able  assist- 


186  CASA  GRANDE 

ance,  added,  "Me  theenk  you  dam'  good  es-surgeon, 
too" ;  then  left  the  room. 

As  Miller  crossed  over  to  his  seat  something  rolled 
from  under  his  boot,  and  he  picked  it  up.  It  was 
the  bullet  that  had  been  extracted  from  Belle's 
wound,  too  small  to  fit  any  of  the  revolvers  carried 
last  night,  except  his  own. 

He  dropped  heavily  in  the  chair,  and  saw  again, 
in  fancy,  the  flickering  blaze  against  the  end  of  his 
barn;  the  figure  leaping  about  it  and  disappearing 
in  the  dark;  the  volley  discharged  by  the  pursuing 
horsemen.  Of  all  the  shots  fired,  his  was  the  one 
that  had  wounded.  He  sadly  examined  the  leaden 
ball ;  it  was  none  other  than  his  own.  But  his  heart 
leaped  to  the  sudden  recollection  that  Manuel's  keen 
eyes  had  not  observed  the  size  when  he  extracted  it, 
and,  now  that  it  was  safe  in  his  own  possession,  no 
one  knew  who  had  fired  the  shot ;  no  one  could  know. 

He  looked  across  to  the  girl,  and  to  her  mother, 
sitting  beside  her.  The  form  on  the  bed  seemed  life 
less — the  white  face,  with  its  framing  of  tangled 
hair,  its  closed  eyes;  the  rigid  figure  starkly  out 
lined  by  the  blanket  drawn  to  the  chin.  He  could 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  187 

detect  no  motion  of  her  breathing,  and  he  hastily 
rose  with  the  gripping  fear  lest  she  had  died.  When 
he  came  beside  her,  her  breast,  with  the  folded  hands, 
lifted  and  fell  ever  so  slightly,  her  parted  lips  dis 
closed  perfect  teeth,  and  her  brow  glistened  with 
sweat. 

He  walked  to  the  western  windows.  The  half- 
burned  pasture  lay  below  him,  and  beyond,  a  grey 
heap,  the  ashes  of  the  consumed  stack.  Everything 
reminded  him  of  last  night's  destruction,  and  of 
Belle's  appearance  at  the  end.  What  had  she  been 
doing  there  ?  Why  had  she  set  fire  to  his  barn  ?  It 
was,  however,  neither  time  nor  place  to  ask  those 
questions,  and  when  it  came  time  perhaps  he  would 
not  care. 

Two  galloping  horsemen  along  the  road  from 
Santa  Rosa  turned  his  mind  back  to  the  more  press 
ing  demands  of  the  hour,  and  he  went  to  the  court 
yard  to  meet  Bailey  and  the  surgeon,  whose  jaded 
mounts  told  of  hard  riding. 

At  the  bedside  of  the  wounded  girl  the  doctor's 
pleasant  face  became  grave.  He  unshaded  the  win 
dows,  opened  the  outer  doors  and  flooded  the  cham- 


188  CASA  GRANDE 

her  with  light,  to  enable  him  the  better  to  examine 
and  dress  the  injury.  He  was  big  and  noisy  and 
confident,  yet  he  was  a  long  time  bent  over  the  girl, 
a  long  time  silent;  and  when  at  last  he  was  satisfied, 
he  called  Miller  and  Manuel  to  assist,  and,  with  un 
usual  care,  dressed  and  bandaged  the  wound. 

After  the  operation  was  over  the  doors  were  closed 
and  the  windows  shaded  again.  The  doctor  sat 
thoughtfully  beside  the  patient,  looking  at  her,  but 
not  seeing  her.  Her  mother  dejectedly  stood  oppo 
site,  and  the  two  others  back  in  the  shadows.  All 
of  them  knew  that  the  case  was  serious;  that  the 
struggle  with  death  would  be  fierce;  that  only  the 
girl's  splendid  vitality  and  substance  would  pull  her 
through. 

The  surgeon  rose  at  length,  put  away  his  appli 
ances  and  closed  his  medicine  case ;  his  visit  was  fin 
ished.  Once  more  his  face  lighted  cheerily,  and,  as 
he  turned  to  go,  he  said,  in  his  bluff,  hearty  way: 
"A  bad  wound,  but  a  healthy  subject." 

"She  will  get  well?"  anxiously  ventured  her 
mother. 

The  doctor  replied  without  hesitation,  but  after 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  189 

the  guarded  manner  in  doubtful  cases:  "If  every 
wound  I  have  to  dress  is  as  likely  to  heal,  I'd  soon 
be  famous." 

"Then  we'll  take  Her  right  home,"  declared  Mrs. 
Clark,  in  a  tone  of  relief.  "The  sooner  the  better." 

"Oh,  no,  madam.  The  quieter  the  better.  She 
mustn't  be  moved." 

"We'd  rather  have  her  dead  than  here." 

The  surgeon's  glance  turned  keenly  on  Miller, 
whose  face  expressed  pain  at  the  unhappy  remark. 
Some  hidden  resentment  must  lie  in  the  woman's 
declaration,  some  injury,  perhaps,  with  which  the 
physician  had  no  concern.  "You  are  her  mother," 
he  rejoined,  without  irritation.  "I've  done  what  I 
can." 

He  paused  at  the  threshold,  as  if  awaiting  the  final 
decision.  The  widow  always  had  wavered  before 
great  perplexities,  and  now  her  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  floor,  and  she  nervously  fingered  the  cover 
thrown  over  her  daughter.  The  room  grew  silent; 
only  the  splash  of  the  fountain  sounded  through  the 
open  window.  She  turned  appealingly  to  Bailey,  who 
moodily  leaned  on  the  footboard  of  the  bed,  his 


CASA  GRANDE 

hands  spread  wide,  his  gaze  on  Belle's  white  face. 
Miller,  watching  with  quiet  interest,  drew  a  deep 
breath  when  the  man  turned  and  said : 

"Leave  her." 

The  doctor  bowed  slightly,  as  if  in  acknowledg 
ment  of  their  deference  to  his  wish,  and  passed  out, 
Miller  following.  In  the  courtyard  the  master  of 
Casa  Grande  asked  what  would  be  the  most  imme 
diate  danger. 

While  the  surgeon  made  fast  his  saddle-bags  he 
explained  that  the  bullet  had  grazed  her  jugular  and 
also  the  base  of  her  skull.  If  the  inflammation  that 
accompanies  healing  should  be  severe,  the  walls  of 
the  artery  might  give  way,  and  death  would  follow 
from  hemorrhage.  Or  the  nerve-tissue  at  the  top 
of  the  spine  might  be  seriously  affected — then  par 
alysis,  either  temporary  or  fatal.  Under  the  most 
favourable  circumstances  she  would  be  long  rallying 
from  the  nervous  shock.  "But,"  he  said,  in  conclu 
sion,  "she  is  young  and  strong,  and  we  must  pull 
her  through." 

When  the  doctor  had  ridden  out  of  the  courtyard 
Bailey  joined  Miller,  and,  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction, 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  191 

remarked :  "I've  got  the  old  lady  straightened  out, 
and  she  has  agreed  to  take  off  Belle's  clothing  and 
make  her  comfortable." 

"It  will  be  a  long  struggle,"  said  Miller,  reflec 
tively,  "and  I  must  overcome  the  widow's  resent 
ment.  Here's  the  place  for  the  girl,  if  comfort  and 
attention  count." 

"What  do  you  think  she  was  doing  behind  the 
barn  last  night  ?"  asked  the  sheriff,  in  troubled  tones. 

The  ranchero  moodily  shook  his  head  and  turned 
away.  "We  mustn't  think  about  anything,  now,  but 
getting  her  well." 

"I'm  dead  tired,"  rejoined  Bailey,  suddenly  re 
membering  what  was  before  them.  He  went  to  his 
mount,  and  added :  "I'll  put  up  my  horse  and  then 
to  bed.  We'll  have  to  stand  our  watch  with  Belle 
to-night." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

I  WAS  ASLEEP,  BUT  MY  HEART  WAKED 

THE  week  following  the  doctor's  visit  was  trying. 
Belle  dozed  continuously,  indifferent  to  sur 
roundings,  her  vitality  consumed  in  a  struggle  to 
undo  the  evil  of  the  wound.  The  injured  tissue 
sloughed  away,  and  the  poison  from  it  tainted  her 
blood  and  prostrated  her. 

The  surgeon  came  daily,  but  faith  in  her  vitality 
and  the  healing  power  of  nature  made  his  calls  er 
rands  of  good  cheer  rather  than  professional  serv 
ices.  He  watched  the  patient  with  an  anxiety  his 
manner  belied,  and,  though  he  gave  no  remedies,  his 
frequent  visits  fortified  the  others  for  days  of  sus 
pense. 

Miller's  comfortable  apartment  was  relinquished 
to  the  wounded  girl.  On  the  walls  were  a  half- 
dozen  engravings,  copies  of  masterpieces;  on  the 

shelf  above  the  fireplace  were  a  few  well-read  vol- 

19* 


MY  HEART  WAKED  193 

umes  of  the  world's  greatest  books;  the  furniture 
was  quaint  and  solid,  and  bearskin  rugs  were  every 
where.  In  the  hush  and  darkness  that  prevailed, 
however,  evidences  of  taste  and  fancy  were  unno 
ticed. 

The  chamber  looked  through  two  windows  to  the 
north,  through  two  others  and  a  door  to  the  west, 
with  a  door  to  the  living-room.  In  the  north  wall 
there  was  a  fireplace,  where  night  and  day  a  log 
blazed,  adding  warmth  and  colour,  the  one  glow  of 
cheer. 

The  sombreness  of  the  close-curtained  room  wore 
on  the  man,  who  was  in  it  but  little ;  he  realised  how 
much  more  it  must  depress  the  girl's  mother,  in  it 
continuously,  and  he  was  as  alert  to  save  her  as  to 
relieve  her  daughter. 

It  was  hard  to  decide  which  of  the  women  was 
the  greater  care.  The  master  of  Casa  Grande  had 
said  he  must  win  Mrs.  Clark's  confidence,  and  he 
went  resolutely  at  the  task.  Her  distrust  was  not 
the  distrust  of  jealousy,  nor  of  propriety,  but 
prompted  rather  by  a  feeling  of  nameless  injury. 
Belle  had  been  in  no  condition  to  explain  her  pres- 


194  CASA  GRANDE 

ence  at  the  barn  the  morning  of  her  wounding,  and 
her  mother  had  not  been  satisfied  by  the  vaqueros' 
statements,  which  left  her  with  a  vague  conscious 
ness  that  Miller  was  culpable. 

She  was  a  woman  of  lively  intuitions,  and  her 
host  saw  at  once  that  the  way  to  overcome  her  preju 
dice  was  by  his  manner.  He  beamed  on  her  with 
courtesy  and  deference,  and  the  mantle  of  distrust, 
wrapped  closely  when  she  entered  his  house,  soon 
was  loosened  and  cast  aside,  even  as  the  cloak  of  a 
pedestrian  is  removed  when  he  tramps  under  a  mid 
day  sun. 

The  first  night  of  their  vigil  with  Belle  the  weary 
mother  was  induced  to  go  to  bed  after  midnight, 
because  Bailey  watched  with  Miller.  The  succeed 
ing  night,  however,  she  and  the  master  of  the  house 
watched  together;  but  a  couch  was  arranged  in  the 
room,  and  when  he  at  last  persuaded  her  to  lie  down, 
she  slept  till  the  usual  hour  for  rising. 

Night  after  night  the  same  thing  happened,  and 
when,  a  week  later,  Bailey  came  again  to  watch,  the 
tired  nurse  was  glad  to  leave  the  men  with  -the  pa 
tient,  who  had  grown  worse  instead  of  better. 


MY  HEART  WAKED  195 

After  that  the  widow  yielded  less  stubbornly  to 
the  host's  gentle  insistence.  Her  perceptions  told 
her  that  she  could  not  stand  the  strain  of  constant 
wakefulness,  and  that,  even  if  she  could,  her  daugh 
ter  was  content  to  be  cared  for  by  Miller.  Her  tem 
per,  never  the  sweetest,  was  becoming  affected,  and 
she  had  to  admit  that  her  condition  reacted  on  Belle 
and  retarded  her  recovery. 

Her  confidence  in  Miller  slowly  extended.  He 
had  a  way  with  Belle  that  quieted,  even  after  her 
nervousness  had  been  added  to  by  her  mother,  and 
the  nurse  was  beginning  to  look  for  his  home 
coming,  not  alone  because  he  could  help  the  patient, 
but  because  he  cheered  the  mother,  fortified  her 
drooping  courage.  She,  who  always  had  leaned  on 
a  more  resolute  personality — her  husband,  then  her 
daughter — was  now  turning  to  the  master  of  Casa 
Grande. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  widow's  barren  life  the 
graciousness  of  association  became  her  daily  experi 
ence,  and  a  new  consciousness  was  waking.  The 
domination  of  sex  she  had  known,  but  the  imperi- 
ousness  of  femininity,  beginning  at  infancy  and  end- 


196  CASA  GRANDE 

ing  with  age,  was  a  revelation,  late,  perhaps,  but 
none  the  less  joyous.  The  unconscious  command 
of  woman  over  man,  the  homage  she  may  compel 
from  him,  were  fragrances  that  had  not  before 
drifted  to  her  work-hardened  life.  Superiority,  after 
all,  is  not  a  possession  of  riches  or  fame,  but  of  an 
indefinable  something  in  the  soul. 

Belle,  too,  felt  the  influence  that  had  been  soften 
ing  her  mother.  The  inherent  power  of  her  sex  over 
men  had  already  been  disclosed  to  her.  It  had  come 
as  a  vague  consciousness,  unexplained  as  yet,  and 
thus  far  it  was  enough  to  live  it,  feel  it  grow  with 
opportunity.  Bailey  had  first  waked  it — indiffer 
ently,  without  an  added  heart-throb.  And  then  this 
other  man  came  to  set  her  every  nerve  aquiver.  She 
had  fought  him,  hated  him,  thrilled  to  him,  warred 
with  herself  because  she  grieved  that  he  was  above 
her. 

The  night  he  had  ridden  her  down  and  folded  her 
in  his  arm  her  heart  had  caught  the  throb  of  his. 
He  had  humbled  himself  then,  and  pointed  her  the 
way  to  become  his  equal,  her  heart  forever  to  throb 
with  his.  She  was  now  too  listless  to  care  what  the 


MY  HEART  WAKED  197 

end  might  be,  but  her  spirit,  fluttering  just  on  the 
limit  of  consciousness,  felt  securely  anchored  in  his 
keeping. 

The  night  after  Bailey  had  watched  the  second 
time,  Belle  lay  thinking  of  Miller's  faithfulness.  He 
had  been  working  long  to  cool  the  fever  that  kept 
sleep  away,  and  when  she  had  grown  quiet  she  saw 
him  sitting  before  the  fireplace,  his  head  thrown 
back  against  the  chair,  his  eyes  closed.  There  were 
lines  on  his  face  not  there  a  month  ago,  and  in  the 
ruddy  glow  his  cheeks  showed  hollow  and  shadowy. 
The  expression  stirred  her  motherhood  with  a  sud 
den  consciousness  that  the  man,  prodigal  in  the  com 
forting  of  others,  at  last  needed  comforting.  Her 
throat  filled  and  tears  dropped  on  her  pillow,  be 
cause  she  must  smother  the  impulse  to  open  her  arms 
and  call  him  to  come. 

Although  longing  to  speak,  her  intuitions  kept 
her  silent.  Something  in  his  manner  had  changed — 
what,  she  could  not  tell,  as  he  had  not  mentioned  the 
forest  fire.  He  was  courteous,  attentive,  almost  des 
perately  helpful,  but  with  an  air  of  performing  a 
task — as  if  forcing  an  appearance  of  interest  to  cover 


198  CASA  GRANDE 

a  feeling  of  dread.  She  fell  asleep,  wondering  if  he 
had  forgotten  the  night  he  rode  her  down,  or 
whether  he  regretted  it. 

He  went  to  her  at  last.  She  lay  facing  the  fire, 
her  hands  clasped,  her  head  resting  on  her  extended 
arms.  He  could  not  see  that  she  had  been  weeping — 
the  light  was  too  dim  to  show  the  stain  on  the  pil 
low — but  her  attitude  was  a  helpless  appeal  that 
troubled  him.  The  doctor's  manner  showed  increas 
ing  anxiety;  Bailey  had  protested  that  something 
more  should  be  done,  and  his  own  judgment  told 
him  that  she  was  failing.  What  the  trouble  was  he 
did  not  know,  but  he  would  discuss  her  condition 
to-morrow  when  the  doctor  called  and  decide  if  a 
consultation  were  necessary. 

The  doctor  did  not  appear  next  day,  and  after  it 
grew  late  Miller  sent  for  him  to  come  without  fail 
in  the  morning. 

That  evening  Belle's  spirit  tugged  at  its  bonds. 
When  the  house  had  grown  silent  her  fever  raged, 
and  the  man  worked  over  her  alone  and  with  grow 
ing  anxiety.  He  tried  cooling  waters  from  the  icy 
springs  of  Aguas  Frias.  He  bound  the  wound  with 


MY  HEART  WAKED  199 

them,  packed  her  head  in  wet  towels,  flung  open  the 
room  to  the  breath  of  night;  yet  without  quieting 
her. 

The  brightness  of  her  eyes  increased,  and  she 
talked  irrationally.  Her  mind  lingered  on  the  forest 
fire  and  her  own  wounding,  and  more  than  once  he 
thought  she  would  explain  why  she  had  been  there. 
Subconsciousness,  however,  was  on  duty  and  held 
back  the  disclosure. 

She  asked  to  sit  at  the  open  door.  He  helped  her 
into  the  big  rocking-chair  and  dragged  it  where  the 
night  drifted  in.  She  leaned  back  restfully  and  lis 
tened  to  the  hum  of  insects,  the  hoot  of  an  owl,  the 
howl  of  coyotes.  The  brightness  went  out  of  her 
eyes,  her  skin  dried  and  her  breathing  slowed. 

They  were  a  long  time  silent.  Her  delirium  had 
reminded  him  of  the  squatters,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  here  must  be  a  halting-place  in  their  warfare. 
A  mistake  had  been  made,  and  the  sweetest  life  of 
all  had  been  offered  in  sacrifice  for  it.  Some  one 
had  attempted  a  cowardly  wrong,  and  the  blow  fell 
on  her,  but  the  anguish  was  his.  He  would  not  ad 
mit  that  she  had  set  the  fire,  and  yet  whoever  had 


200  CASA  GRANDE 

planned  the  evil  must  be  appalled  at  his  own  cruelty, 
and  as  long  as  she  lay  helpless  in  Casa  Grande  she 
was  a  hostage  for  good  conduct. 

After  that But  why  look  so  far?  The  lash 

was  on  his  back ;  he  needed  the  discipline,  for  he  had 
blundered,  and  he  was  profiting.  When  Belle  should 
get  well  his  duty  would  end  and  he  be  done  with 
them  all.  No  human  life  should  again  be  on  his 
hands,  even  if  he  must  lose  every  building  and  every 
hoof  on  the  range.  Hereafter,  mistrust  of  the  Clarks 
would  hold  him  aloof.  He  had  felt  certain  of  Belle, 
even  of  Wash ;  yet  his  own  barn  had  been  set  on  fire, 
and  she  alone  had  been  found  there;  his  confidence 
had  been  misplaced.  If  she  did  not  recover 

She  moved  and  said  that  she  was  tired,  and  he 
helped  her  to  bed.  A  new  complication  developed: 
from  burning  fever  she  went  to  shivering  chill.  He 
closed  doors  and  windows,  stirred  the  fire,  and  ap 
plied  hot  water,  but  she  grew  worse.  He  came  to 
the  end  of  his  resources,  and  then  gave  a  quieting 
powder  left  by  the  doctor  for  emergencies  only. 

The  dose  checked  the  chill,  but  did  not  stop  it.  In 
half  an  hour  he  gave  another,  this  time  with  decided 


MY  HEART  WAKED  201 

effect.  Soon  he  was  anxiously  bent  over  the  uncon 
scious  girl,  who  was  very  weak.  Her  breathing 
quickened  and  grew  loud;  her  pulse  fluttered;  her 
lids  partly  opened ;  her  jaw  relaxed.  There  was  no 
light  but  the  glow  from  the  hearth,  yet  it  showed 
her  stark  under  the  covers,  colorless  as  the  sheets. 

What  if  she  should  die  here,  alone  with  him !  His 
soul  called  on  its  Maker  to  spare  this  scourge,  while 
the  anguish  of  the  crucified  rent  him.  Her  life  was 
in  the  hollow  of  his  own  hand ;  how  should  he  an 
swer  for  it?  Again  he  bent  over  the  motionless 
form,  acutely  sensitive  to  her  wavering  breath.  He 
took  her  hand  in  both  of  his  and  went  with  her  down 
to  the  bank  of  the  deep  and  silent  river  of  death,  and 
gazed  across  to  where  vision  fails. 

And  then  he  led  her  back.  The  house  waked  once 
more  and  Mrs.  Clark  relieved  him.  Belle's  skin  was 
moist,  her  breathing  easy;  her  lips  had  closed  and  a 
faint  color  was  in  her  cheeks. 

The  man  whose  soul  had  cried  in  anguish  came 
out  under  the  fading  stars  and  leaned  restfully 
against  a  column  of  the  porch,  his  breath  drawn 
deeply.  Birds  twittered  in  the  vines,  the  fountain 


202  CASA  GRANDE 

plashed  softly,  and  in  the  east  was  the  first  glow  of 
day.  With  unconscious  thankfulness  he  lifted  his 
eyes  toward  the  light;  the  daughter  of  morning,  clad 
in  rose-colour,  was  trailing  her  garments  across  the 
sky. 


CHAPTER  XV 
OR  EVER  I  WAS  AWARE 

SOON  after  breakfast  Miller  sent  another  messen 
ger  for  the  doctor.  The  master  of  Casa  Grande 
was  apprehensive  lest  the  wound  was  not  properly 
healing,  fever  and  delirium  indicating  blood-poison 
ing,  and  he  expressed  his  fear  in  a  note  given  the 
messenger. 

Belle  had  been  quiet  since  her  mother  went  in  to 
her,  and,  as  a  cattle  buyer  had  arrived  to  procure 
beef  for  the  holiday  trade,  the  ranchero  went  down 
to  the  feeding-sheds  and  helped  the  vaqueros  cut  out 
the  animals  selected  by  the  purchaser.  As  these  were 
the  first  product  of  his  range,  he  was  pleased  and 
flattered  by  the  praise  bestowed  on  their  superior 
condition.  Better  even  than  the  praise  was  the  price 
paid  him,  almost  fabulous  compared  with  the  value 
of  ordinary  range  cattle. 


204  CASA  GRANDE 

He  was  roused  from  absorption  in  the  trade  by 
the  appearance  of  Manuel  on  Peggy.  It  was  an  un 
heard  of  liberty  for  any  of  the  men  to  use  the  mare, 
and  Miller  knew  that  Belle  was  in  distress  again. 

As  the  two  men  returned  hastily  to  the  house, 
Manuel  said,  in  explanation  of  his  coming:  "La 
senorita  bery  es-strong  feber  just  now." 

"How  long  has  she  been  suffering?"  Miller  asked. 

Manuel  explained  that  she  had  been  awake  for 
more  than  an  hour;  that  he  and  her  mother  had 
tried  everything  they  knew  for  relief,  but  without 
success,  and  then  they  had  decided  to  send  for  him. 

When  Miller  went  into  the  sick-room  Belle  was 
restlessly  staring  about,  too  delirious  to  recognise 
him.  Her  mother  sat  rocking  beside  her,  with  hands 
helplessly  folded,  head  resting  on  the  back  of  her 
chair,  and  eyes  shut.  She  looked  up  on  hearing  the 
man's  soft  footfall,  and  rose. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  she  anxiously  inquired. 
"I'm  so  glad  you've  come!  We've  tried  everything 
we  can  think  of,  and  she  gets  worse." 

"You  are  tired,"  Miller  answered.  "I've  just  sold 
some  beef  steers,  and  the  buyer  will  be  in  to  dinner. 


OR  EVER  I  WAS  AWARE  205 

Help  Manuel  prepare  something  extra,  will  you? 
I'll  see  what  can  be  done  with  Belle." 

He  put  pillows  under  the  girl's  shoulders  to  re 
lieve  the  blood-pressure  in  her  head.  She  stared 
with  unseeing  vision  through  open  door  and  win 
dows,  mumbling  incoherently,  brushing  her  hair  with 
both  hands  back  from  her  flushed  cheeks  and  smack 
ing  her  lips.  He  offered  her  water;  she  would  not 
drink.  He  was  afraid  to  move  her  nearer  the  door 
again,  and  at  last  he  went  to  the  drawef  and  took 
out  a  powder.  But  she  refused  to  swallow  it,  and 
while  he  was  considering  how  to  administer  it  he 
concluded  to  wait  for  the  coming  of  the  doctor,  so 
that  the  professional  man  might  have  full  benefit  of 
the  worst  symptoms. 

He  kept  a  wet  towel  about  her  head  and  did  what 
he  could  in  other  ways  to  lower  her  temperature, 
certain  that  he  was  retarding  the  progress  of  the 
fever.  As  the  sun  leaned  toward  the  west,  however, 
the  air  grew  hotter,  and  the  delirium  increased. 

During  the  dinner  hour  Miller  could  not  leave  his 
patient,  and  he  struggled  alone  with  her  increasing 
restlessness.  She  attempted  to  get  out  of  bed;  she 


206  CASA  GRANDE 

insisted  on  going  outdoors;  she  must  have  one  of 
the  rifles  on  the  wall;  but  gently  and  soothingly  he 
held  her  back,  his  personality  exercising  a  subtle 
restraint,  and  at  last  had  her  lying  quiet,  her  lids 
closed.  The  log  was  blazing  in  the  fireplace,  and 
he  went  across  to  smother  it  in  ashes.  As  he  bent 
over  his  task  she  called  to  him : 

"You  shan't  burn  the  barn !" 

He  straightened  up  and  steadied  himself  against 
the  mantel.  She  was  lying  on  her  side,  and  gazed 
past  him,  out  the  door. 

"Stamp  it  out !"  she  commanded,  "or  else  I  will." 
She  lay  in  the  same  position  and  stared  the  same 
way. 

"You  cowards !"  she  went  on.  "No ;  I  won't  tell. 
Run!  They're  coming.  Quick!"  She  sat  up  and 
pointed  her  finger  at  him. 

He  bent  down  again,  replaced  the  shovel  he  had 
been  holding,  and  leaned  heavily  against  the  wooden 
shelf,  with  a  feeling  as  if  a  band  were  tightening 
about  his  heart.  She  was  explaining  the  mystery 
of  the  attempt  to  burn  his  barn. 

"I'll  put  it  out,"  she  said,  more  quietly.    After  a 


OR  EVER  I  WAS  AWARE  207 

short  pause,  her  arms  went  into  the  air  and  waved 
frantically,  while  she  called  in  alarm :  "Quick ! 
They're  coming !"  and  threw  herself  forward  on  the 
covers. 

He  straightened  her  back  on  the  pillows,  his  voice 
low  and  calming,  his  hands  clasping  her  wrists. 

She  stared  unknowingly  in  his  face,  and  called, 
with  a  piercing  cry:  "Run!  The  dog!"  Her  tones 
denoted  terror,  and  she  sat  upright,  in  spite  of  his 
hold  on  her.  "They're  yelling!  No!  No!  Miller!" 

She  threw  herself  back  and  sobbed  hysterically, 
both  hands  covering  her  face. 

In  helpless  misery  he  bent  over  her.  The  only 
thing  he  thought  to  do  was  to  stroke  back  the  hair 
from  her  cheeks,  too  grieved  to  remember  anything 
but  the  scene  when  the  girl  had  been  shot  as  she 
tried  to  put  out  a  fire  started  by  others.  All  his 
posse  that  night  had  held  in  their  souls  a  desire  to 
kill,  and  the  desire  had  been  nearly  accomplished. 
In  the  light  of  newly  acquired  knowledge,  he  wished 
that  every  revolver  on  the  ranch  had  been  burned 
in  the  fire  that  swept  the  valley. 

The  doctor  had  ridden  quietly  into  the  courtyard 


208  CASA  GRANDE 

and  entered  the  dwelling  without  Miller's  knowl 
edge.  The  girl's  screaming  reached  the  caller's  ears, 
as  well  as  her  mother's.  They  ran  into  her  room 
and  caught  the  picture  at  the  bedside.  The  doctor 
stood  a  moment,  as  if  to  seize  the  purport  of  it,  and 
then  swiftly  advanced,  his  face  sombre. 

It  did  not  take  long  for  the  surgeon  to  decide  that 
Miller's  fears  were  well  founded,  as  he  quietly  said : 
"We  must  open  the  wound,  John — blood-poison 
ing." 

The  girl  regarded  him  vaguely,  and  turned  her 
eyes  on  Miller.  Again  she  went  over  the  scene  at 
the  fire,  and  when  she  wildly  threw  her  arms  about, 
the  men,  standing  on  opposite  sides  of  the  bed,  each 
grasped  a  wrist  in  an  effort  to  quiet  her. 

"She's  going  to  die!"  wailed  Mrs.  Clark,  her 
apron  in  her  hands. 

"No,  madam,"  answered  the  doctor,  somewhat 
curtly.  "We'll  probe  the  wound,  and  she'll  soon 
come  out  of  this.  Will  you  ask  Manuel  to  have  hot 
water  ready?" 

When  she  left  the  room,  the  surgeon  relaxed  his 
hold  of  Belle,  straightened  up,  and  said :  "I  hope 


OR  EVER  I  WAS  AWARE  209 

she'll  stay  away  till  we're  done.  She's  a  good 
woman,  but  helpless — unreliable  in  a  pinch."  He 
glanced  at  John,  still  holding  the  girl's  wrists,  and 
quietly  asked :  "Did  you  shoot  the  real  incendiary  ?" 

Miller  shook  his  head,  dejectedly  walked  to  the 
western  window,  and  gazed  long  into  the  valley  of 
the  Aguas  Frias. 

Belle  moved  uneasily,  as  if  to  get  out  of  bed.  The 
doctor  restrained  her  with  soothing  words,  and 
called  to  the  ranchero :  "We  must  calm  her,  John, 
so  that  I  can  get  at  the  wound."  And  when  John 
came  to  the  bed,  the  doctor  prepared  a  quieting  dose 
and  gave  it. 

As  soon  as  the  patient  was  unconscious  they  called 
in  Manuel,  with  hot  water,  and  opened  and  cleansed 
the  wound.  It  had  healed  too  fast  outside,  and  ab 
sorption  was  causing  the  mischief. 

When  the  bandaging  had  been  finished  the  pa 
tient  was  made  comfortable,  the  room  darkened  and 
silence  restored.  "She'll  soon  be  better,"  hopefully 
remarked  the  doctor,  as  he  put  away  his  instru 
ments.  "It  will  be  hours  before  she  recovers  from 
the  effects  of  the  opiate.  In  the  meantime,  John" — 


210  CASA  GRANDE 

he  spoke  kindly,  the  thought  of  the  mistake  made 
in  shooting  the  girl  vivid  in  his  mind — "get  what 
rest  you  can.  You'd  better  be  here  when  she  wakes/' 

The  doctor  sat  down  beside  the  bed,  and  as  he  re 
garded  his  patient  a  new  interest  in  her  awoke.  He 
all  along  had  felt  that  there  was  more  to  this  woman 
than  the  ordinary  country  girl.  He  had  known 
of  Bailey's  attraction,  but  Miller's  was  another  mat 
ter,  not  so  easy  to  explain.  It  was  a  difficult  posi 
tion  for  a  young  man  like  the  master  of  Casa 
Grande.  So  they  had  shot  her  for  the  person  who 
had  put  fire  to  the  barn,  while  she  had  been  trying 
to  extinguish  it.  A  very  interesting  complication. 
His  mind  wandered  off  to  dreamland,  to  the  days 
of  his  own  youth  and  its  glowing  ideals.  A 
movement  of  the  host  roused  him,  and  he  quietly 
rose. 

They  left  the  chamber  together  and  went  to  the 
courtyard.  When  the  doctor  was  riding  away  Miller 
asked  him  to  send  word  of  Belle's  condition  to 
Bailey.  The  sheriff  might  like  to  come  out,  next 
day  being  Sunday. 

Mrs.   Clark  took  charge  of  the  patient  the  re- 


OR  EVER  I  WAS  AWARE  211 

mainder  of  the  afternoon  and  until  bedtime,  which 
permitted  Miller  to  get  much-needed  sleep. 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  when  the  master  of  Casa 
Grande  went  to  his  place  beside  the  still  unconscious 
girl.  She  had  been  moving  somewhat  restlessly  be 
fore  he  came  in,  and  the  household  had  gone  softly 
to  bed.  They  had  not  long  been  quiet  when  Bailey 
rode  up.  Miller  met  him  in  the  courtyard,  led  the 
way  into  the  dining-room,  and  was  about  to  sit  down 
by  the  table. 

"No,"  objected  the  newcomer;  "I  want  to  see 
her." 

"She  has  been  uneasy  for  the  past  hour/'  replied 
Miller,  "as  if  she  might  come  from  under  the  influ 
ence  of  the  opiate  given  at  noon." 

"We'll  be  very  quiet,"  urged  the  sheriff. 

When  the  two  men  stood  beside  the  girl,  lying 
wan  and  rigid,  with  closed  lids,  their  faces  were  as 
grave  as  if  watching  over  the  dead.  There  was  no 
sound  in  the  room,  not  even  the  flicker  of  a  blaze  in 
the  fireplace.  The  log  had  burned  to  a  glowing  coal, 
which  shed  a  dim,  soft  radiance  about  the  hearth 
and  threw  fantastic  shadows  in  the  corners.  Had  it 


212  CASA  GRANDE 

not  been  for  the  slight  rise  and  fall  of  the  hands 
clasped  over  the  breast  they  might  have  thought 
Belle  lying  in  her  shroud. 

The  sheriff  went  noiselessly  out,  and  the  girl 
turned,  but  did  not  wake.  The  two  men  seated 
themselves  by  the  dying  fire  in  the  dining-room  and 
smoked  a  cigarette,  while  they  talked  in  low  tones. 

"We  must  have  a  consultation,  Miller,"  insisted 
Bailey. 

"Wait  till  we  see  the  effect  of  probing  the  wound." 

"The  wound  should  have  healed  without  prob 
ing,"  indignantly  replied  the  sheriff.  "It's  a  case 
of  neglect." 

"The  doctor  has  been  attentive." 

"That  may  be.  But  look  at  the  girl — her  thin 
hands  and  cheeks.  She's  losing  strength  every  day." 

"Go  to  bed,  Sam,"  kindly  commanded  Miller. 
"Wait  till  you  see  her  in  the  morning;  then  we'll 
decide."  He  lighted  a 'candle  and  led  the  way  to 
the  guest's  room.  "I'll  call  you  early  to  relieve  me — 
by  four  or  five." 

Miller's  return  to  the  chamber  roused  Belle,  who 
lay  quietly  observing  him  move  about  the  dim  room 


OR  EVER  I  WAS  AWARE  213 

to  make  ready  for  his  long  vigil.  He  arranged  the 
fire,  put  out  a  pitcher  of  water  in  the  night  air, 
moved  a  chair  near  the  bed,  and  stood  for  a  moment 
studying  her  face. 

"What  time  is  it,  Mr.  Miller?"  she  asked,  her 
voice  thin  and  weak. 

He  smiled  at  her  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  brow. 
It  was  damp  and  cooler,  and  he  knew  that  she  was 
rational  again. 

"It's  after  ten." 

"I  thought  I  heard  you  come  in ;  it  waked  me  up." 

"Yes.  I've  been  showing  Sam  Bailey  to  bed.  He 
came  an  hour  ago." 

"Poor  Sam!"  she  sighed.  "I  wish  I  had  seen 
him." 

"He  was  in  here,  but  you  were  sleeping.  He'll 
relieve  me  in  the  morning.  Probably  you'll  see  him 
when  you  wake  again." 

She  brushed  back  the  hair  from  her  cheeks,  pink 
from  the  effort  to  talk,  and  wearily  moaned :  "My 
head  throbs  like  a  hammer.  I've  had  dreadful 
dreams — the  morning  after  the  fire  over  again." 

"Never  mind,  now.    Let's  not  talk  of  it." 


214  CASA  GRANDE 

"I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  mind — the  shooting  of 
me." 

"You'll  be  better  now,"  he  said,  trying  to  turn  her 
thoughts.  "We  put  you  under  an  opiate  to  probe 
your  wound.  That's  what  makes  your  head  ache. 
It  was  healing  too  rapidly." 

"I  hope  so,"  she  groaned.  "It's  been  a  long  time." 
She  pressed  her  palms  to  her  forehead.  "Is  maw 

sleeping  ?    Poor  maw !    It's  hard  on  her.    And  you, 
.  jj 

"Don't,  Belle,"  he  said,  gently  interrupting.  "If 
you  knew  how  this  hurt  of  yours  oppresses  me,  and 
what  a  relief  it  is  to  do  for  you,  you'd  not  pity  me." 

But  she  only  shook  her  head  and  sighed.  "I'm 
wearing  you  out.  If  the  bullet  had  gone  a  little 
higher  or  a  little  lower !"  she  answered,  and  listlessly 
folded  her  hands. 

He  drew  his  chair  closer.  It  was  the  first  com 
plaint  she  had  uttered,  and  the  pity  of  it  all  was  suf 
focating  him.  Sleeping  or  waking,  he  must  have 
ever  before  him  this  picture  of  the  suffering  he  had 
inflicted.  Perhaps  if  it  were  settled  now  why  she 
had  been  at  the  barn  the  morning  after  the  fire  the 


OR  EVER  I  WAS  AWARE  215 

subject  would  leave  her  thoughts.  At  least,  he  could 
make  the  effort,  and  with  evident  hesitation  he 
asked : 

"Why  were  you  there?" 

She  turned  on  her  side  and  silently  regarded  him. 
A  reproach  he  could  not  endure  was  in  her  manner, 
and  he  hastily  added :  "You  said,  in  your  delirium, 
that  you  were  trying  to  put  out  a  fire  started  by 
another." 

She  nodded. 

"I  knew  you  didn't  set  it !" — there  was  a  note  of 
relief  in  his  voice — "even  if  I  did  see  you." 

"You  have  suspected  me,  Mr.  Miller.  I  felt  it 
as  soon  as  I  knew  where  I  was,  after  the  shooting. 
I  didn't;  I  wouldn't."  She  was  very  weak,  and  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  sobbed. 

He  rose  and  walked  across  the  room  a  time  or 
two.  When  he  sat  down  again  she  reached  out  her 
hand,  and  as  he  clasped  it  her  fingers  trustingly 
closed  on  his. 

They  were  a  long  time  silent.  The  clearing  away 
of  the  mystery  in  the  attempt  to  burn  his  barn 
brought  them  suddenly  close.  Since  that  trying 


216  CASA  GRANDE 

morning  a  wall  had  risen  between  them,  and  as  the 
days  passed  it  seemed  to  grow  higher.  It  could  not 
shut  away  his  tireless  attention,  his  watchful  anx 
iety  ;  yet  the  feeling  of  comradeship  had  disappeared, 
and  with  it  something  had  dropped  from  her  life. 
But  as  suddenly  as  the  barrier  had  risen  it  fell,  and 
for  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  in  his  house  she 
caught  the  faint  splashing  of  the  fountain. 

She  withdrew  her  other  hand  from  her  eyes,  and 
moved  it,  too,  down  to  his,  her  two  over  his  one. 
She  held  him  thus  quietly  a  little  while  in  the  dim 
light  of  the  noiseless  chamber,  two  souls  face  to  face 
once  more  after  separation,  and  alone. 

"I'm  not  wholly  bad-tempered,"  she  timidly  whis 
pered. 

He  hastily  turned  his  face  away,  lest  she  should 
catch  the  quiver  in  his  breath. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
AS  ONE  THAT  FOUND  PEACE 

MILLER  slept  late  next  morning — Sunday. 
There  could  not  well  be  a  day  of  rest  on  a 
cattle  range  where  many  animals  are  cared  for  and 
fed,  but  on  Aguas  Frias  the  Sabbath  passed  more 
leisurely  than  other  days,  and  the  ranchero's  con 
science  failed  to  rouse  him  at  the  accustomed  hour. 

The  entire  household,  in  fact,  slept  late,  as  if  the 
past  week  had  overtaxed  their  endurance;  and 
Bailey,  who  had  been  watching  with  Belle  since  four, 
wondered  if  no  one  ever  would  stir.  The  patient  had 
slept  continuously,  and  he,  too,  had  dozed  till  the 
sun  rose;  then  he  grew  impatient,  and  concluded 
that  he  was  not  adapted  to  the  sick-room. 

Sounds  came  at  last  from  within,  as  well  as  with 
out,  and  Mrs.  Clark  appeared,  to  find  her  daughter 
still  sleeping  and  the  sheriff  anxious  to  be  relieved. 


218  CASA  GRANDE 

Breakfast  over,  the  sun  climbed  high  in  a  cloud 
less  sky,  and  the  air  grew  warm ;  but  the  master  of 
Casa  Grande  slept  on,  and  Bailey,  for  want  of  some 
thing  to  do,  wandered  off  with  the  men. 

Belle  waked  at  last,  refreshed,  and  for  the  first 
time  since  she  was  wounded  bethought  of  her  per 
sonal  appearance.  "I  wish  I  had  a  looking-glass," 
she  remarked. 

From  Miller's  bureau  her  mother  took  an  old- 
fashioned  hand-glass  and  gave  it  to  her  daughter. 
The  invalid  studied  her  reflection,  and  a  touch  of 
sadness  was  in  her  voice  when  she  declared  that  she 
was  like  a  squaw. 

Her  mother  smiled  indulgently;  she  noted  her 
daughter's  milk-white  complexion,  unnaturally  pale 
after  the  weeks  of  confinement,  and  lightly  answered, 
"All  but  your  skin." 

"I'd  like  to  fix  up,  maw,"  she  said,  half-ashamed 
of  her  unaccustomed  vanity.  "My  hair  can  be 
brushed,  and  perhaps  my  sack  is  with  the  clothes  you 
sent  for." 

When  Bailey  returned  the  girl  was  transformed, 
and  as  he  caught  the  contrast  of  dark  hair  and  skin 


AS  ONE  THAT  FOUND  PEACE         219 

almost  transparent  in  its  fairness,  it  recalled  pictures 
he  had  seen  of  Madonnas.  A  sudden  fear  gripped 
him  lest  she  would  not  live,  but  the  red  bolero  vest 
she  wore,  snug  and  jaunty,  left  sufficient  of  the 
earthly  to  allay  his  alarm. 

He  lounged  restlessly  about  the  chamber,  lost 
without  the  host.  To  put  in  the  morning,  he  had 
wandered  till  tired,  and  then  returned  to  the  house. 
He  asked  if  Miller  had  been  called,  but  Manuel,  who, 
more  than  any  one  else,  had  realised  the  strain  of 
the  past  days,  stood  guard  over  the  master's  door. 

"Meestah  Jone  dam'  tired,"  was  the  well-meaning 
protest.  "Heem  all  time  smile,  all  time  do  this,  all 
time  do  that;  you  theenk  him  no  played  out.  You 
bet,  heem  sleepy !  One  week  more,  heem  be  die." 

Now  that  they  were  reminded,  each  remembered 
how  haggard  Miller  had  grown,  and  they  united  in 
keeping  the  house  quiet.  But  as  the  day  wore  on, 
and  he  did  not  appear,  the  silence  became  gloomy, 
and  they  understood  what  his  absence  meant. 

"Where's  Gyp?"  asked  Belle.  "She  hasn't  been 
in  this  morning ;  she  usually  sleeps  here." 

Bailey  went  to  find  the  dog,  but  Manuel  told  him 


220  CASA  GRANDE 

that  she  was  at  her  master's  bedside.  He  did  not 
add  that  he  had  lately  looked  in  on  the  sleeping  man 
and  had  seen  Gyp  crouched  beside  her  master.  He 
feared,  if  he  did,  that  the  sheriff  would  look  in, 
too. 

When  Bailey  wandered  forlornly  back  to  the  in 
valid  she  motioned  to  the  chair  beside  her,  and  said, 
"Talk  to  me."  She  was  moved  by  his  dejection. 

"What  shall  we  talk  about?"  he  absently  asked, 
seating  himself. 

"Oh — the  weather."  The  humorous  gleam  in 
her  eyes  reached  through  his  self-absorption. 

He  leaned  across  the  bed  and  cheerfully  scru 
tinised  her,  the  smile  fading  from  his  lips.  "I  never 
thought  you  beautiful  before." 

The  sudden  flash  of  admiration  embarrassed  her, 
and  she  turned  her  face  toward  the  windows,  where 
blue  sky  showed.  "Do  you  think  it's  going  to  rain 
soon?" 

"Rain !"  He  laughed  boisterously  at  her  evasion. 
"It  doesn't  look  like  it,  now.  But  I  have  a  feeling 
that  it  will  before  the  week  is  past."  He  settled  back 
in  his  chair,  and  his  thoughts  wandered.  "Next  Sun- 


AS  ONE  THAT  FOUND  PEACE         221 

day  will  be  Thanksgiving/'  he  continued;  "not  the 
holiday,  but  the  celebration.  I  hope  it  '11  be  dry. 
I'm  going  to  send  some  turkeys.  You  must  be  well 
enough  to  come  to  table." 

"I  hope  I  may.    I  do  want  to  get  out  of  this !" 

"Miller  is  a  good  fellow,"  the  sheriff  irrelevantly 
asserted. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  took  up  the  mirror  beside 
her  and  twirled  it  in  her  hands. 

"Why  don't  you  say  he  is  ?"  banteringly  demanded 
the  speaker. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  pleased  expression,  and 
softly  laughed.  "Oh,  Sam,  why  don't  you  ask  me 
to  say  the  sun  shines !" 

He  bent  toward  her,  and  replied,  somewhat  net 
tled  :  "Doggone  it !  I  don't  see  the  harm  of  telling 
a  fellow." 

"Sam  Bailey,"  she  said,  smiling  again,  "look  in 
this  mirror  and  tell  me  what  you  see." 

He  took  the  little  hand-glass  and  examined  its 
quaint  design,  its  exquisite  finish,  but  avoided  his 
own  reflection. 

"Why  don't  you  look  in  it?" 


CASA  GRANDE 

He  laid  it  back  on  the  covers  and  kept  his  eyes  on 
her  face.  "I'd  rather  look  at  you." 

"Let's  be  friends,"  she  soberly  replied,  and  ex 
tended  her  hand. 

He  clasped  her  fingers  and,  in  spite  of  her  strug 
gles,  pressed  them  to  his  lips. 

"You  mustn't,"  she  declared,  with  evident  annoy 
ance. 

He  lightly  replied  that  he  would  rather  not  be 
friends  on  those  conditions. 

Hoofbeats  echoed  from  the  courtyard,  and  the 
sheriff  went  out  to  greet  the  doctor,  who  had  ridden 
in.  He  found  his  patient  physically  improved,  but 
low-spirited.  She  was  attractive  in  her  first  toilet, 
yet  he  missed  the  curve  of  lip,  the  gleam  of  teeth, 
that  belong  with  holiday  attire. 

"Where's  John?"  he  asked. 

They  told  him  that  the  master  still  slept. 

"Good,  good,"  he  declared,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"He  needs  it." 

"He's  been  sleeping  a  long  time,"  protested  the 
patient.  "Some  one  should  call  him  before  he  sleeps 
himself  into  a  fever." 


AS  ONE  THAT  FOUND  PEACE         223 

The  doctor  sat  down  beside  her  and  took  her  hand 
in  a  fatherly  way,  his  lips  twitching.  "How  long 
has  John  been  sleeping?"  was  the  quizzical  demand. 

"He  left  me  before  four,"  she  answered,  with  the 
suspicion  of  a  pout. 

The  surgeon  looked  at  his  watch  and  grunted, 
then  softly  laughed.  "Four!  It's  nearly  twelve. 
You  don't  grudge  the  poor  man  eight  hours'  sleep, 
miss?" 

She  laughed  an  abashed  little  laugh,  and  reached 
her  other  hand  to  clasp  his,  her  face  hidden  by  her 
extended  arm.  "It  seems  eight  days,"  she  softly  re 
plied. 

"Eight  days?"  he  as  softly  repeated,  and  patted 
the  hand  lying  in  his.  A  curious  fancy  awoke.  How 
would  this  hand  look  in  a  glove,  with  jewelled  rings? 
It  was  white,  now,  and  the  fingers  tapered.  He 
raised  his  eyes  to  her  face — it  still  was  hidden — and 
again  he  musingly  remarked,  "Eight  days  ?" 

Something  in  his  tone  caused  her  to  look  shyly 
up.  His  eyes  were  kind,  and  he  said,  so  that  no  one 
could  hear,  "I'll  call  him  for  dinner,  honey." 

"No,  no,"  she  whispered;  "he  must  have  rest." 


224  CASA  GRANDE 

And  then  her  mother  stepped  in,  with  the  remark 
that  she  had  seen  Miller. 

The  widow  had  gone  out  when  the  doctor  asked 
for  John,  and,  as  Manuel  was  not  in  sight,  she 
quietly  opened  the  sleeping  man's  door.  He  lay 
relaxed,  his  head  thrown  back  in  utter  weariness, 
and  by  the  dim  light  his  face  showed  hollow  and 
worn,  but  his  breathing  was  deep  and  measured. 

Her  eyes  fell  on  the  dog,  which  crouched  near  the 
bed,  and  which  eyed  her  with  a  savage  gleam, 
as  if  ready  to  spring,  the  hair  upright  on  her  back. 
In  days  of  strength  the  whole  world  was  Gyp's 
friend;  in  days  of  weakness  she  knew  only  her 
master. 

Mrs.  Clark  hastily  withdrew  and  reported  what 
she  had  seen.  The  company  listened  indifferently, 
even  the  dog's  fidelity  but  lightly  impressing  them. 
They  wanted  to  see  their  host,  not  hear  of  him,  and 
when  dinner  was  announced  it  was  a  relief.  The 
doctor  waked  Miller,  and  the  three  men  dined  to 
gether,  then  went  to  Belle. 

Miller  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  to  regard  the 
patient.  She  turned  away  her  face,  but  there  were 


AS  ONE  THAT  FOUND  PEACE         225 

light  in  her  eyes,  colour  in  her  cheeks,  curves  in  her 
lips.  She  had  caught  the  pleasure  in  his  look,  and 
held  out  her  hand. 

He  took  the  doctor's  seat,  observed  her  with  great 
content,  and  asked  of  the  physician,  "What  do  you 
think?" 

The  doctor's  face  lighted.  He  at  last  discovered 
where  Belle's  spirits  had  been,  and,  much  pleased 
at  his  penetration,  answered,  "I  think  I've  found  a 
remedy." 

"A  secret?"  obtusely  asked  Miller. 

"Yes.  The  next  time  she  needs  a  prescription 
I'll  give  one  that  you  can  fill."  The  speaker  chuckled. 

Mrs.  Clark  had  gone  to  the  vaqueros ;  Bailey  had 
walked  to  the  window  and  was  gazing  moodily  at 
the  hills ;  the  others  made  a  familiar  group  by  them 
selves. 

Miller  studied  the  smiling  face  of  the  doctor,  and 
shook  his  head.  "I'm  dense  to-day,"  he  said,  in  re 
ply  to  the  last  remark.  "Must  have  slept  too  long." 
He  laughed  in  sympathy  with  the  doctor  and  stroked 
the  girl's  hand,  still  in  his.  "Looks  as  if  we  have 
good  red  blood  in  us  yet !" 


226  CASA  GRANDE 

"Yes ;  we're  very  cheerful."  The  doctor  took  his 
hat  from  the  bed.  "There  doesn't  seem  any  need 
for  me  now.  There  may  be,  however,  if  you  stay 
away  again  eight " 

Belle  quickly  withdrew  her  hand  and  turned  away 
her  head ;  the  doctor  laughed  teasingly  as  he  left  the 
room. 

Miller's  face  grew  grave  as  he  followed  the  sur 
geon  into  the  courtyard.  The  ranchero  suspected 
that  some  by-play  between  the  professional  man  and 
his  patient  had  caused  the  doctor  to  conclude  that 
the  master  of  Casa  Grande's  attentions  to  the  girl 
were  growing  personal.  The  younger  man  wondered 
if  he  had  given  her  cause  to  deem  his  regard  any 
thing  more  than  paternal  interest,  and  he  resolved 
to  be  more  careful  in  future. 

Bailey  went  to  town  with  the  physician,  and  the 
master  of  the  range,  to  get  outdoors,  walked  down 
to  the  feeding-sheds,  Gyp  close  at  his  heels,  an  act 
quite  unusual  for  her. 

Manuel  watched  them  from  the  open  door,  and 
went  into  Belle's  room  to  remark :  "Gyp,  he  glad  see 
Meestah  Jone.  She  no  lose  heem  to-day !" 


AS  ONE  THAT  FOUND  PEACE         227 

''Manuel,"  called  Belle,  as  he  turned  away,  "do 
you  think  Gyp  the  only  one  glad  ?" 

The  old  Mexican  went  soberly  back  and  studied 
her  face  till  the  shadow  of  a  flush  came  in  her  cheeks. 
He  was  growing  to  like  her,  and  his  instinct  for 
romance  was  still  keen.  He  knew  very  well  who 
else  was  glad,  yet  he  egotistically  answered : 

"Oh,  no,  sefiorita ;  me  dam'  glad  see  heem.  By  'n 
by,  you  know  heem  long  time  like  me  know  heem, 
you  be  dam'  glad,  too."  He  hastened  away,  softly 
laughing. 

She  moved  uneasily,  her  colour  deepening,  and 
glanced  at  her  mother,  who  sat  placidly  rocking. 
The  girl  wondered  what  Manuel  had  found  in  her 
question  to  amuse  him;  wondered  if  a  girl  must  be 
laughed  at  because  of  friendship  for  a  man,  and 
wonder  changed  to  irritation. 

When  Miller  returned  he  bore  a  mass  of  freshly 
cut  tollones,  the  ripening  berries  turning  red.  Belle 
was  alone  for  the  moment,  and  quick  as  she  beheld 
his  burden  she  gave  a  little  cry  of  joy  and  held  out 
her  arms. 

He  gave  them  to  her,  and  she  folded  them  as  she 


228  CASA  GRANDE 

had  folded  the  azaleas  and,  without  a  word,  buried 
her  face  in  the  blaze  of  colour.  As  she  handed  them 
back  her  eyes  were  shining,  her  cheeks  and  lips 
aglow. 

"What  have  you  done!'*  he  called,  in  bantering 
dismay,  and  offered  the  glass  to  her,  but  she  steadily 
turned  away  her  eyes. 

"Look  at  your  cheeks  and  lips!  I  didn't  know 
that  the  red  comes  off  the  berries !" 

She  gently  pushed  back  his  hand  holding  the  mir 
ror,  painfully  conscious  of  the  differing  emotions 
roused  by  the  two  men's  compliments.  When  she 
again  looked  at  him  her  colour  had  deepened,  and  he 
beheld  the  same  glance  he  had  caught  the  day  she 
took  his  azaleas. 

This  time  his  lids  did  not  droop. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

STAY  YE  ME 

THE  storm  broke  in  the  middle  of  the  week,  and 
the  vaqueros  battled  gallantly  with  the  ele 
ments.  The  Aguas  Frias  foamed  down  to  the  Cala- 
bezas,  the  water  overflowing  its  banks. 

Miller  was  needed  among  his  men,  and  the  day 
time  rarely  found  him  in  the  house.  No  matter 
what  preparation  may  have  been  made,  the  first  rains 
of  winter  never  find  the  rancheros  quite  ready. 

Belle  had  not  improved.  The  doctor  attended 
regularly,  but  there  were  distressing  conditions  he 
could  not  relieve.  The  girl  complained  of  numbness 
in  hands  and  feet,  and  showed  growing  inability  to 
help  herself. 

Sunday  was  kept,  however,  a  holiday,  and  a 
thankful  party  assembled  in  Casa  Grande.  Bailey 

came  from  Santa  Rosa  Saturday  night,  and  Belle, 

229 


23o  CASA  GRANDE 

to  the  delight  of  all,  managed  to  sit  at  the  table  for 
Thanksgiving  dinner.  The  old  house  may  have 
echoed  to  noisier  rejoicing,  but  never  with  more 
sincere  gratitude. 

The  meal  finished,  Belle  was  moved  close  to  the 
dining-room  fire,  Bailey  ever  near.  A  premonition 
of  impending  evil  that  would  cause  her  more  suffer 
ing  kept  him  subdued.  He  hung  over  her  in  help 
less  solicitude,  and  refrained  from  doing  or  saying 
anything  that  would  sadden  her. 

The  rain  poured  again  when  the  sun  went  down, 
and  all  night  long  the  tile  roof  hummed  with  music 
from  the  clouds.  Peace  was  in  the  rhythm,  and 
when  a  sleeper  waked  it  was  to  stretch  himself  indo 
lently,  with  a  sense  of  protection,  a  feeling  of  secur 
ity,  because  the  primitive  dwelling  had  been  sturdily 
planned  against  both  man  and  the  elements. 

The  day's  happenings  had  exhausted  the  patient, 
and  she  could  not  sleep.  After  Bailey  had  gone  to 
bed  she  strove  vainly  against  growing  nervousness 
until  her  mother  called  Miller,  and  then  she  lay  re 
garding  him  with  wide-open  eyes.  He  brought  com 
fort,  but  not  slumber. 


STAY  YE  ME  231 

Her  dependence  on  the  man  had  been  growing 
with  the  passing  days.  She  restlessly  awaited  his 
coming,  when  away,  and  could  not  be  quieted  unless 
he  tended  her.  The  struggle  between  longing  for 
his  presence  and  solicitude  not  to  break  him  down 
distressed  her. 

It  was  a  happy  anxiety  for  Miller.  To  be  the 
source  of  another's  comfort  was  a  new  experience. 
To  be  dominated  by  the  helplessness  of  this  suffering 
woman  he  had  greatly  wronged,  to  find  himself  her 
strength  and  reliance — these  made  a  gentle  penance, 
and  he  gave  himself  cheerfully  to  her  demands. 

As  a  child  depends  on  parental  wisdom,  so  did 
Belle  depend  on  Miller.  Her  weakness  was  too 
urgent  for  tenderness,  except  the  tenderness  of  sup 
port.  She  was  nearing  the  valley  of  deep  shadows, 
and  she  held  to  him  trustingly.  Not  alone  her  life 
but  her  spirit  was  in  his  keeping. 

To-night  as  he  sat  beside  her  she  clung  to  him. 
They  did  not  speak,  but  her  long-drawn  sighs,  her 
clasping  fingers,  were  eloquent  of  need.  He  thought 
of  holy  men  who  bore  the  cross  into  the  wilderness ; 
of  lonely  souls  that  went  out  to  their  Maker  in  the 


232  CASA  GRANDE 

consolation  of  that  symbol.  Was  it  the  symbol  or 
the  comradeship  that  comforted?  Was  it  hope  of 
future  life,  or  a  hand  to  steady  the  drifting  spirit 
into  the  silent  bark  guided  by  an  oarsman  none  has 
seen? 

It  grew  late,  and  still  those  shining  eyes  turned 
trustingly  to  him.  He  rose  at  last  and  stirred  the 
fire,  then  went  to  the  table  and  took  up  the  soothing 
mixture.  "You  must  sleep,  Belle,"  he  kindly  said. 

She  smiled  at  him. 

In  an  hour  the  dose  had  worked  its  effect,  but  she 
moved  uneasily,  with  strange  mutterings  in  her 
slumber.  The  rain  beat  ceaselessly  on  the  tiles,  and 
their  subdued  melody  drenched  the  silence  with 
drowsiness.  He  nodded  and  swayed  in  his  chair 
under  that  alluring  lullaby.  Then,  noiselessly,  to 
throw  off  the  spell,  he  paced  in  the  shadow. 

Gyp  alone  watched  with  him.  The  instinct  of  the 
brute  warned  her  of  her  master's  distress,  and  when 
ever  he  moved  she  eyed  him,  alert  to  any  change; 
whenever  he  stepped  to  the  bedside  she  followed  him 
and  gently  rose  against  the  cover,  to  get  sight  of  the 
sleeping  woman,  whom  she  curiously  scented. 


STAY  YE  ME  233 

Mrs.  Clark  came  long  before  daylight  to  relieve 
him.  Belle  had  fallen  into  quieter  slumber,  and  he 
went  out,  stirred  the  dining-room  fire,  and  dozed  in 
a  chair  till  Manuel  appeared  to  prepare  breakfast. 
Then  the  master  rode  down  under  the  grey  dawn  to 
the  cattle-sheds. 

A  bear  had  come  in  the  night  and  broken  one  of 
the  corral  gates.  He  evidently  had  met  his  match, 
for  they  could  track  him  by  crimson  stains,  and  Cin 
nabar's  short,  stout  horns  also  were  stained.  But 
the  bull's  shoulder  was  torn  by  claw  or  tooth,  and 
the  wound  required  attention.  As  soon  as  the  men 
arrived  they  first  trailed  the  midnight  robber,  and 
some  miles  away,  in  a  clump  of  brush,  they  found 
him,  dead.  Then  the  young  bull's  wound  was  roughly 
dressed,  and,  to  keep  him  quiet  a  day-  or  two,  he  was 
driven  to  his  dead  sire's  stall,  beside  Peggy's. 

The  sun  had  risen  high  as  Miller  and  the  men 
guided  the  unwilling  Cinnabar  through  the  court 
yard  gate.  Near  the  dining-room  door  two  dripping 
saddle-horses  panted,  and  at  sight  of  them  Miller's 
heart  stood  still,  as  he  realised  how  long  he  had  been 
absent  bear-hunting.  He  went  swiftly  into  the  house, 


234  CASA  GRANDE 

and  found  Bailey  and  the  doctor,  summoned  while 
he  was  away,  with  Belle,  who  lay  twisted  and 
sunken,  only  her  eyes  and  the  unrhythmic  motion  of 
her  chest  telling  of  life.  And  yet  she  knew  when  he 
entered ;  she  moved  neither  head  nor  body,  but  in  the 
look  she  gave  him  there  was  an  appeal  that  terrified 
him,  held  him  for  an  instant  in  his  tracks.  Then  he 
went  to  her  and  inquired  the  trouble. 

The  physician  sat  beside  the  bed,  still  clasping  her 
pulse  as  he  looked  out  the  window.  He  turned  at 
the  ranchero's  question  and  answered  : 

"Paralysis." 

"Belle !"  whispered  Miller,  dropping  on  his  knees 
at  the  bedside.  He  drew  her  head  to  his  shoulder 
and  gently  stroked  back  the  tangled  hair.  In  the 
presence  of  death  his  firmly  reined  emotions  had 
slipped  their  bits  and  impulse  alone  controlled.  It 
was  not  the  tenderness  of  his  action  that  impressed 
the  others,  but  the  hopelessness. 

Belle  closed  her  eyes  languidly,  yet  in  utter  con 
tent,  as  if  the  world  were  bounded  by  his  circling 
arm  and  the  hereafter  were  without  terror. 

He  quickly  realised  his  position  and,  with  some 


STAY  YE  ME  235 

embarrassment,  laid  her  back  on  the  pillows.  Her 
mother,  twisting  her  apron,  leaned  against  the  wall. 
When  he  looked  at  her,  she,  as  if  divining  the  ques 
tion  he  would  put,  forlornly  remarked : 

"I  don't  know  when  it  happened.  About  daylight, 
I  think." 

"Are  you  in  pain,  Belle?''  he  asked. 

"She  can't  speak,"  explained  the  doctor. 

Miller  turned  a  questioning  face  to  him,  as  if  to 
ask  relief  for  the  patient,  but  the  older  man  shook 
his  head.  "You  might  raise  her  up  while  we  smooth 
the  bed,"  he  suggested. 

Miller  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  and  her  mother 
straightened  bed  and  pillows.  The  girl  hung  limp, 
her  head  dropping  back.  When  he  laid  her  down 
her  limbs  were  composed  and  her  position  made  rest 
ful,  but  her  eyes  alone  expressed  gratitude. 

Bailey  had  stood  silently  leaning  on  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  and  he  curiously  observed  Miller  make  the 
girl  comfortable.  It  was  a  womanly  action,  and  for 
the  first  time  it  occurred  to  the  sheriff  that  tender 
ness  was  not  wholly  a  feminine  quality. 

The  next  thought  that  came  in  his  mind  was  that 


236  CASA  GRANDE 

Miller's  prompting  was  love  for  the  girl,  rather 
than  an  innate  gentleness.  But  almost  coincident 
was  the  reflection  that  he,  too,  loved  her,  yet  he  did 
not  know  how  to  make  her  comfortable. 

The  doctor  rose  stiffly  from  his  seat,  put  his  hand 
on  her  forehead,  looked  deep  in  her  eyes,  and,  turn 
ing  to  Miller,  said : 

"She'll  have  to  be  frequently  shifted,  until  she  can 
help  herself."  His  manner  had  lost  its  air  of  confi 
dence,  and  he  absently  drew  out  pencil  and  paper. 
"Here's  a  prescription,"  he  added,  after  he  had  fin 
ished  writing.  "You'd  better  have  it  filled  at  once." 

The  three  men  went  to  the  courtyard,  where  the 
horses  waited.  The  animals  breathed  easier,  and 
their  flanks  were  nearly  dry.  Miller  offered  fresh 
mounts  to  his  friends,  but  they  preferred  their  own, 
and  the  doctor  put  his  medicine  case  in  the  saddle 
bags  and  shifted  the  blanket  on  the  horse's  back. 

"What  will  be  the  outcome,  doctor?"  Miller  asked 
the  question  quietly,  but  with  dry  lips. 

The  physician  leaned  on  his  saddle  and  kindly  re 
garded  his  friend.  "It's  the  beginning  of  the  end,  I 
fear.  The  bullet  injured  the  base  of  the  brain  or  the 


STAY  YE  ME  237 

spine."  He  drew  the  cinch  tight  and  gathered  the 
reins.  "I  don't  know  what  more  to  do,  except  keep 
her  free  from  pain." 

Miller  would  not  yield  to  the  doctor's  mood,  and 
he  quickly  replied,  "She's  strong  yet." 

"Her  vitality  is  splendid.  If  only  her  limbs  and 
speech  alone  were  affected!  But  her  heart — you 
heard  how  she  breathes.  It's  the  inside  of  her  that 
troubles  me.  If  her  stomach  is  involved,  she'll 
starve." 

The  suggestion  made  by  Bailey  not  many  days 
ago  had  been  taking  form  in  Miller's  mind  the  past 
week,  and  he  was  now  willing  to  consider  other  pro 
fessional  advice. 

"You'll  have  no  feeling,  doctor,"  he  asked,  "if  I 
propose  a  consultation?" 

"You  owe  it  to  yourself,  John,  and  to  the  girl." 

"Then  I  shall  send  for  Dr.  Payne,  the  army  sur 
geon  at  the  San  Francisco  presidio." 

"If  he  will  only  come!"  replied  the  doctor,  with 
new  enthusiasm.  "He  has  no  equal  on  the  Coast." 

"We  crossed  the  plains  together,"  Miller  replied, 
"and  we  are  distantly  connected." 


238  CASA  GRANDE 

"Just  the  man.  Get  him  here  as  soon  as  you  can." 
The  doctor  mounted  and  turned  toward  the  gate. 
"Send  for  the  prescription  and  give  as  directed/'  he 
called  back. 

Bailey  had  been  a  silent  listener.  The  determined 
spirit  of  the  man  who  was  planning  for  Belle's  re 
covery  would  yet  save  her  life.  Revived  ardour 
stirred  the  sheriff,  and  he  cheerily  remarked,  as  he 
followed  the  doctor : 

"I'll  be  ready,  John — anything — day  or  night.  It 
will  be  a  godsend  to  help !" 

The  riders  looked  back  as  they  passed  the  gate. 
The  master  of  Casa  Grande,  still  resolute,  was  lean 
ing  in  great  perplexity  against  the  basin  of  the  plash 
ing  fountain. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
TURN  AWAY  THINE  EYES 

THE  next  two  days  were  grey  with  foreboding. 
The  doctor  came  regularly  from  Santa  Rosa, 
but  he  could  do  nothing  to  check  Belle's  steady  de 
cline.  She  grew  more  deathlike  with  the  hours,  only 
her  pleading  eyes  alive;  and,  behind  the  pleading, 
life-signals  were  slowly  burning  out. 

The  evening  of  the  second  day  brought  Dr.  Payne, 
smiling  and  sympathetic,  from  San  Francisco.  It 
must  have  been  a  tedious  trip,  nearly  all  day  coming 
less  than  fifty  miles.  If  it  were,  he  gave  no  sign  of 
weariness,  for  the  way  had  been  full  of  charm,  and 
as  he  approached  Casa  Grande,  in  the  falling  shad 
ows,  it  seemed  like  riding  to  the  land  of  knights- 
errant,  the  fashion  of  the  dwelling  suggesting  at 
tack  and  defence. 

The  world  of  men  lay  behind  him,  and  he  was 

239 


240  CASA  GRANDE 

now  in  a  world  of  fancy.  The  oaks  and  the  ma 
dronos;  the  murmur  of  the  Aguas  Frias,  still  bur 
dened  with  the  storm  of  Sunday ;  the  last  calling  of 
quail  and  the  first  yelping  of  coyotes,  brought  back 
his  youth,  with  its  idle,  impossible  longings.  A 
spear  and  a  sword,  a  coat-of-mail  and  a  prancing 
steed — and  smouldering  fancies  could  easily  be  glow 
ing  realities. 

And  the  maiden  in  distress His  imagination 

gave  way  to  sombre  reflection  at  that  picture,  and  as 
he  drew  near  the  shadowy  castle  fancy  thronged 
with  romantic  reasons  why  he  had  been  sent  for. 
But  the  summons  came  from  an  old  comrade,  and 
the  appeal  had  been  too  urgent  to  question. 

The  surgeon's  first  thought  on  entering  the  house 
was  to  look  at  the  girl  whose  life  awaited  his  skill. 
A  conflict,  invisible  to  human  eyes,  was  raging  in  her 
crippled  body  slowly  yielding  under  the  assaults. 
Her  heart  was  signalling  distress,  but  the  code,  frag 
mentary  and  uncompiled,  was  his  familiar  study. 
Her  pulse,  in  his  firm  clasp,  bounded,  wavered, 
struggled;  he  read  the  message  confidently,  hope 
fully. 


TURN  AWAY  THINE  EYES  241 

He  bent  his  ear  to  the  rush  of  air  through  her 
lungs;  nothing  there  interested  him.  He  slowly 
worked  his  fingers  over  her  skull — there  he  hesi 
tated.  He  gazed  long  in  her  heavy  eyes,  as  if  search 
ing  the  soul  of  her.  When  at  last  he  turned  away 
the  repose  of  his  face  thrilled  the  man  who  had  been 
watching  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  bed. 

Dr.  Payne  and  Miller  supped  alone,  for  it  was 
late  when  they  sat  down.  The  ranchero's  spirits 
threw  off  the  weight  of  oppression  that  had  borne 
heavily  since  Belle's  relapse.  His  companion,  finely 
moulded  and  gentle,  was  poised  with  the  confidence 
of  self-reliance  and  success.  It  was  good  to  be  with 
him;  to  warm  to  his  enthusiasm;  to  glow  with  his 
delight  in  living.  Even  though  the  newcomer 
avoided  mentioning  Belle,  his  subdued  geniality  car 
ried  the  conviction  that  he  had  come  on  a  mission 
of  healing. 

The  next  day  was  brilliant  with  December  charm, 
and  it  brought  the  old  doctor  from  Santa  Rosa  early 
and  amiable,  Bailey  with  him.  The  professional  men 
spent  a  few  minutes  alone  in  consultation  and  then 
prepared  for  an  operation. 


242  CASA  GRANDE 

"A  blood-clot  on  the  brain/'  said  Dr.  Payne,  in 
explanation,  to  Miller,  as  they  were  making  ready. 
"We'll  have  to  trephine  her  skull." 

Mrs.  Clark  wandered  desolately  from  room  to 
room.  Belle's  illness  had  been  a  long  trial,  and  she 
had  not  borne  it  well.  Now  that  her  daughter  must 
undergo  another  operation,  the  case  seemed  hopeless, 
and  the  men  could  not  but  pity  her.  Miller  and 
Bailey  took  her  out  to  the  courtyard  and  sought  to 
divert  her  attention  as  well  as  their  own. 

But  Dr.  Payne  soon  called  his  host,  and  when 
Miller,  also  dreading  this  new  ordeal,  appealingly 
answered,  "Not  this  time,  Ned/'  the  surgeon  smil 
ingly  but  relentlessly  replied : 

"A  woman's  life  is  at  stake." 

The  master  of  Casa  Grande  left  his  companions 
in  the  sunshine,  and  in  the  room  with  the  surgeons 
he  found  Manuel,  clad  in  immaculate  white  from 
the  grizzly  hair  of  his  well-shaped  head  to  the  ash- 
coloured  moccasins  on  his  feet,  his  face  expressing 
modesty  and  concern. 

As  Dr.  Payne  scanned  his  fourth  assistant  there 
was  approval  in  his  smile  as  well  as  a  twinkle  in  his 


TURN  AWAY  THINE  EYES  243 

eyes,  and  when  everything  was  prepared  he  deferen 
tially  asked,  "Are  we  ready,  Manuel  ?" 

"Meestah  Jone  and  me  ready,  sefior,"  was  the 
simple  answei. 

The  bedroom  was  flooded  with  light  and  air,  and 
Miller  was  left  to  administer  the  anaesthetic,  a  task 
that  more  than  once  had  been  required  of  him  by 
Dr.  Payne. 

Belle  was  laid  on  a  table  near  the  window,  and 
Miller  stood  opposite,  clasping  her  pulse,  a  satu 
rated  handkerchief  over  her  mouth.  She  was  facing 
him,  and  not  once,  while  conscious,  did  her  eyes 
move  from  his.  She  understood  what  they  were 
about,  but  it  little  mattered  so  long  as  he  was  beside 
her.  Her  breathing  thickened,  her  lids  wavered, 
then  closed.  She  was  gone.  Only  her  heart-throb 
was  left ;  beating  for  him,  beating,  fluttering,  almost 
stopping. 

His  attention  soon  was  fixed  on  Dr.  Payne.  There 
was  something  fascinating  in  the  skill  of  the  oper 
ator.  His  hands  were  soft  and  flexible — Belle's  were 
like  them — his  touch  gentle,  yet  it  never  wavered. 

Once  the  doctor  glanced  up;  Miller  stood  grimly 


244  CASA  GRANDE 

to  the  task,  but  the  tint  was  gone  from  his  cheeks 
and  his  lips  were  drawn.  The  surgeon  went  silently 
on. 

As  soon  as  Miller's  assistance  was  no  longer 
needed,  he  sat  down  in  the  deep  window  and  leaned 
against  the  casing,  where  the  breath  of  morning 
blew  on  him. 

Dr.  Payne,  while  binding  the  wound,  stopped  to 
make  an  observation.  "Your  Western  women  are 
magnificent!  They  respond  like  men."  He  glanced 
at  Miller,  but  got  no  reply.  His  friend's  eyes  were 
closed  and  his  face  the  colour  of  the  patient's. 

The  result  of  the  operation  justified  the  prognosis. 
As  soon  as  Belle  recovered  from  the  immediate  ef 
fect  of  knife  and  anaesthetic  her  paralysis  grad 
ually  modified,  and  when  supper  was  over  she  was 
sleeping  naturally,  warmth  and  colour  almost  re 
stored. 

The  last  thing  that  night  the  two  friends  went 
in  to  the  patient.  They  entered  quietly,  but  she 
wakened,  and  when  she  beheld  Miller  a  faint  smile 
chased  shadows  from  her  lips  and  colour  mounted 
her  cheeks.  The  surgeon  raised  her  and  offered  her  a 


TURN  AWAY  THINE  EYES  245 

cup  of  water.  She  drank  for  the  first  time  that  day, 
then  settled  to  sleep  again. 

Dr.  Payne  remained  two  days  longer.  Hunting 
and  fishing  were  especially  good,  and  he  yielded  with 
a  youthful  abandon  to  the  delights  of  primitive  ex 
istence. 

The  doctor  from  Santa  Rosa  resumed  care  of  the 
patient,  under  direction  of  Dr.  Payne.  She  steadily 
rallied,  and  when  the  surgeon  said  good-bye,  she  was 
able  to  murmur  a  few  words  of  gratitude.  He 
brushed  back  the  tangle  of  her  hair  and  kindly 
studied  her  face.  Her  latent  strength  of  character 
moved  him  with  unusual  tenderness,  and  he  bent 
down,  touched  his  lips  to  her  brow,  and  whispered, 
"Somebody's  wild  rose."  He  was  thinking,  how 
ever,  of  Miller. 

In  the  early  morning  ride  to  the  steamer  the  ran- 
chero  quietly  said  to  Dr.  Payne :  "Your  coming  has 
been  a  godsend.  I  shot  her.  If  she  should  die " 

"You  shot  her !  You !"  The  doctor  stared ;  then 
his  face  lighted  knowingly.  "Aha!"  he  exclaimed, 
and  was  silent  again. 

"There  is   something   intensely  womanly   about 


246  CASA  GRANDE 

her,"  remarked  the  doctor,  when  he  spoke  again, 
"I  don't  believe  that  even  I  could  be  shut  up  in  the 
same  house  with  her  for  weeks  and  withstand  the 
spell." 

"See  here,  Ned ;  are  you  taking  advantage  of  pro 
fessional  opportunities  ?" 

"Sh-sh!"  whispered  the  doctor.  "I  haven't  said 
a  word.  Your  own  conscience  is  betraying  you." 
He  laughed  happily  at  his  friend's  discomfiture. 

"But,  Ned,"  seriously  insisted  Miller,  "she  doesn't 
know." 

Dr.  Payne  laughed  derisively.  "Never  mind, 
John.  There's  heartache  ahead  for  both  of  you.  It's 
inevitable  in  such  cases,  and  howsoever  the  affair 
ends,  it  will  end  well."  He  laid  a  hand  on  Miller's 
arm  and  earnestly  continued :  "Stand  by  your  con 
victions.  It's  soul  that  counts — and  she  has  soul, 
gracious  and  enduring,  I'm  sure." 

John  did  not  answer.  He  was  wondering  if  his 
regard  for  Belle  had  been  so  apparent  that  a  stran 
ger  could  detect  it  in  a  two  days'  stay  under  the  same 
roof  with  them.  He  had  been  too  anxious  of  late 
to  think  of  anything  but  Belle,  yet  he  was  uncon- 


TURN  AWAY  THINE  EYES  247 

scious  of  having  shown  any  feeling  for  her  other 
than  concern. 

They  were  nearing  the  steamer  landing  in  the 
slough  that  put  in  from  the  bay.  The  boat  was 
white  in  the  sunshine,  a  cloud  of  smoke  pouring 
from  the  stack.  The  doctor  anxiously  looked  at  his 
watch. 

"Plenty  of  time,"  said  Miller,  reassuringly. 
"They'll  wait,  now  that  we're  in  sight." 

"Can  you  accommodate  Mabel,  John,  for  two  or 
three  weeks?"  The  doctor  spoke  abruptly,  a  care 
worn  expression  on  his  face.  Miller  wondered  that 
he  had  not  before  noticed  it. 

"Anything  wrong,  Ned?"  quickly  asked  the 
host. 

Mrs.  Payne  was  past  forty,  childless,  and  often 
separated  months  from  her  absorbed,  successful  and 
popular  husband.  What  fancies,  what  questionings, 
will  not  creep  into  a  wife's  brain  under  such  con 
ditions  ? 

"She's  not  well,"  answered  the  doctor.  "It  has 
been  damp  and  cloudy  this  winter  at  the  Presidio, 
and  she  can't  throw  off  a  depression  that  is  alarm- 


248  CASA  GRANDE 

ing."  He  hesitated  a  moment.  "If  you  could  take 
her  up  here,  it  will  be  just  the  place.  She'll  be  help 
ful — probably  take  a  hand  in  your — your  little " 

He  finished  with  an  amused  laugh. 

"Then  she  can't  come,"  Miller  decidedly  answered. 
But  he  latfghed  in  return,  and  his  companion  fell  to 
thumping  him.  "Send  Mabel  up  as  soon  as  you  can 
get  her  here,  Ned,"  Miller  continued.  "If  there's 
anything  else  you  want — the  ranch,  Gyp,  Peggy, 
anything  but  Belle — ask  for  it." 

They  alighted  from  the  wagon  and  fastened  the 
horse;  Miller  went  with  his  friend  to  the  steamer's 
gangplank,  and  explained  to  him  that  the  boat  lay 
all  day  at  the  landing  on  Sunday,  and  that  if  Mabel 
came  Saturday  night  she  might  remain  on  board,  and 
her  host  would  meet  her  Sunday  morning.  That 
would  make  the  trip  easier. 

"Good,  John!  I'll  do  it.  Keep  her  outdoors. 
She'll  help  with  Belle;  keep  them  both  in  the  sun 
shine.  I'll  come  again  Christmas." 

The  whistle  blew,  the  men  shook  hands,  and  the 
doctor  crossed  the  plank.  "Good-bye,  John,"  he 
called  from  the  deck.  "Next  Saturday.  I  pity  you 


TURN  AWAY  THINE  EYES  249 

— three  women  under  the  same  roof!"    His  laugh 
was  not  very  merry. 

As  the  boat  backed  into  the  slough,  he  called  once 
more,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  "Take  care  of  my 
wild  rose." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THAT  THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME 

MRS.  PAYNE  had  been  more  than  two  weeks 
at  Casa  Grande,  and  her  personality  de 
clared  itself  from  the  first.  In  appearance  she  was 
the  essence  of  good  breeding,  refinement  evident  in 
thought  and  feeling,  as  well  as  manner.  Her  figure 
was  slight  and  girlish,  her  complexion  fair  and  un 
usually  smooth  for  a  woman  of  forty. 

The  change  she  already  had  wrought  in  the  house 
hold  caused  Miller  to  wonder.  He  had  not  believed 
it  possible  to  drift  so  far  from  the  embellishments  of 
his  early  life,  yet  now  the  very  dogs  moved  with  a 
subdued  and  decorous  manner.  The  old  dwelling 
always  had  been  hospitable,  a  rough-and-ready  den ; 
she  gave  the  touch  that  made  it  home. 

The  vaqueros  had  regarded  her  coming  with  dis 
may  until  they  found  that  the  glowing  dining-room 


THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME      251 

still  was  their  undisputed  resort,  even  the  women's 
meals  being  served  in  Belle's  room.  Mrs.  Payne's 
presence  among  the  men,  after  the  day's  labours 
were  over,  instead  of  driving  them  away,  woke  a 
latent  gallantry  that  they  themselves  had  not  sus 
pected.  She  was  of  a  world  quite  unreal  to  these 
rough  natures,  a  seeming  fairyland,  and  they  uncon 
sciously  strove  to  hide  the  contrast  offered  in  their 
own  existence.  As  if  a  little  child  had  come  among 
them,  they  lowered  their  voices,  softened  their  laugh 
ter  and,  when  housed  for  the  night,  changed  their 
soggy  garments  for  fresher  raiment,  yet  all  with  a 
willingness  that  left  no  doubt  of  her  charm. 

Belle,  too,  had  shared  the  general  disquiet.  She 
had  not  realised,  until  Mrs.  Payne  walked  in  on 
them,  what  a  formidable  rival  the  lady  would  be; 
then  this  dainty  personality,  with  her  domination  of 
even  the  vaqueros,  became  a  source  of  apprehen 
sion,  and  the  girl,  who  had  so  long  been  the  centre 
of  all  regard,  intuitively  felt  that  she  must  hence 
forth  share  attentions ;  resentfully  at  first,  then 
gladly,  when  she  discovered  the  married  woman's 
sincerity. 


252  CASA  GRANDE 

Mrs.  Payne  had  been  quick  to  note  Belle's  feel 
ings,  and  lost  no  opportunity  to  overcome  them.  The 
older  woman  was  strongly  attracted  by  the  convales 
cent,  whose  isolation  in  the  midst  of  all  this  friend 
liness  was  the  first  note  of  the  girl's  need.  Changes 
were  taking  place  in  the  young  soul  that  were  vital 
Doubts,  anxieties,  hopes  were  straining  her  self-con 
trol  beyond  the  limit  of  endurance. 

The  doctor's  wife  devoted  herself  to  the  winning 
of  the  girl's  confidence.  When  indoors,  she  rarely 
was  away  from  Belle,  and  took  almost  entire  care 
of  her  during  the  day.  She  sewed  for  the  patient, 
read  to  her,  and  tried  every  gentle  means  to  draw 
out  aspirations  long  and  carefully  guarded.  It  was 
not  an  easy  task,  for  Belle  was  of  a  taciturn  race, 
not  given  to  self-study.  And  even  had  she  been,  the 
influence  most  moving  her  was  one  that  all  along  she 
had  denied,  and  would  still  deny  if  confronted  with 
the  facts. 

Day  by  day  the  older  woman's  purpose  became 
more  definite,  and  what  she  failed  to  draw  from 
Belle  frequently  was  learned  from  Mrs.  Clark.  The 
loss  of  the  family  land;  their  imprisonment;  their 


THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME      253 

release  through  Miller's  efforts ;  his  building  of  their 
cabin;  the  shooting  of  the  girl — right  there  came  a 
kink  in  the  chain  of  circumstances.  The  mother  did 
not  know  why  Belle  had  been  at  the  barn,  to  be  shot, 
and  the  daughter  had  not  yet  told;  in  fact,  she  al 
ways  avoided  speaking  of  the  matter. 

Mrs.  Payne,  who  had  been  denied  the  blessedness 
of  motherhood,  felt  her  long-slumbering  maternity 
awakening,  and  Belle  was  taking  the  place  of  her 
dream-child.  She  thought  of  the  girl  as  her  own, 
and  every  day  asked  herself  what  she  would  do  if 
she  had  a  daughter  subjected  to  similar  influ 
ences. 

The  conventional  woman  deemed  the  present  situ 
ation  too  impossible  to  last  after  the  novelty  had 
worn  off.  Belle  was  sweet  and  strong,  but  too  crude 
to  satisfy  the  needs  of  Miller's  aspiring  manhood, 
too  matured  ever  to  be  moulded  into  the  personality 
to  sound  the  depths  of  his  affections.  In  the  opinion 
of  this  self-sufficient  woman,  refinement  was  a  mat 
ter  of  descent,  to  be  acquired  only  after  generations 
of  custom. 

That  the  present  situation  was  tending  toward 


254  CASA  GRANDE 

marriage  of  the  young  people  Mrs.  Payne  was  cer 
tain.  Belle's  adoration  of  Miller  was  patent  to  ex 
perienced  eyes,  and  his  response  more  than  fatherly 
or  brotherly.  It  was  time  to  stop  the  intimacy,  al 
though  she  dreaded  the  suffering  this  would  inflict 
on  the  girl.  But  she  was  gaining  resolution  to  do 
her  duty  unflinchingly  by  the  reflection  that,  how 
ever  heart-breaking  the  anguish  of  separation  might 
be,  it  was  preferable  to  lifelong  regret  after  mar 
riage. 

It  did  not  occur  to  this  loving  plotter  against  the 
destiny  of  two  lives  that  the  soul  has  a  test  all  its 
own ;  that  grandeur  does  not  lie  in  rank,  nor  polish, 
nor  even  fame;  that  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  only 
for  the  little  ones  and  those  who  are  like  unto  them. 
How  could  she  know — this  woman  of  fashion,  so 
ciety,  convention,  of  the  endless  restrictions  of  the 
sordid  town? 

One  thing,  however,  she  did  know :  Belle's  eyes 
were  always  following  her,  devouring  her.  The 
glances  were  disquieting,  for  something  in  them  told 
of  a  longing,  of  a  need,  that  she  had  not  satisfied, 
that  she  must  satisfy.  As  the  days  went  by,  this 


THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME      255 

longing  grew  more  urgent,  and  Mrs.  Payne  at  last 
spoke  about  it  to  Miller. 

He  laughed  with  happy  indulgence,  and  told  her 
that  Belle  was  putting  her  to  the  test.  The  girl  had 
never  known  a  character  like  hers,  and  not  a  word 
or  act  was  lost.  The  next  thing,  Mrs.  Payne  would 
observe  her  own  manner  reproduced  in  Belle.  She 
must  be  careful  what  she  said  and  did. 

The  lady  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  She  was  un 
certain  whether  or  not  he  was  ridiculing  her,  even 
though  the  girl's  almost  tireless  regard  gave  colour 
to  his  views.  The  woman  turned  away  with  a  little 
pang,  for  she  felt  that  the  best  Belle  could  ever  do 
would  be  only  imitation,  and  he  would  see  through 
it. 

Miller  came  near  guessing  Belle's  motive,  yet  be 
yond  her  study  of  the  older  woman  was  a  study  of 
him,  for  his  manner  towards  his  latest  guest  was  a 
revelation.  He  treated  Mrs.  Payne  with  a  courtesy,  a 
deference,  that  placed  her  above  his  work-a-day 
world.  She  never  entered  the  room  that  he  did  not 
rise  and  stand  until  she  was  seated.  If  she  dropped 
anything,  he  hastened  to  pick  it  up.  In  fact,  she 


256  CASA  GRANDE 

could  not  move  that  he  was  not  at  hand  to  save  her 
the  slightest  exertion,  and  to  Belle  he  appeared  the 
guest's  abject  slave  rather  than  her  well-bred  equal. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  the  convalescent's  eyes  car 
ried  the  shadow  of  constant  longing.  She  for  the 
first  time  was  conscious  of  a  woman  of  his  class  and 
the  difference  between  that  woman  and  herself.  She 
was  more  acutely  conscious,  moreover,  of  his  manner 
toward  a  woman  he  regarded  as  his  equal,  and  she 
wondered  if  she  would  have  him  different  toward 
herself.  Since  the  night  he  had  learned  that  she  did 
not  set  fire  to  his  barn  it  had  seemed  to  her  that  his 
manner  could  not  be  more  delightful.  It  was  not, 
however,  what  she  thought,  but  what  he  thought, 
that  disquieted  her.  If  he  preferred  women  like  Mrs. 
Payne,  the  secret  of  their  attractiveness  must  be  dis 
covered,  and  the  girl's  manner  accordingly  modified. 

Miller  was  vaguely  aware  of  the  undercurrent  be 
tween  the  two  women.  He  was  satisfied  that  the 
interest  his  distant  relative  took  in  Belle  was  not 
entirely  impersonal,  and  the  little  drama  enacting 
by  them  furnished  quiet  amusement.  Mrs.  Payne 
no  doubt  was  on  the  alert  for  evidences  of  his  regard 


THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME      257 

for  the  invalid,  and  might  interfere  if  she  consid 
ered  the  matter  serious  enough.  But  he  had  faith 
in  Belle's  ability  to  protect  herself. 

The  master  of  Casa  Grande  was  growing  to  ap 
preciate  the  danger  of  his  present  attitude  toward 
Belle.  His  life  was  far  too  solitary,  and  some  subtle 
quality  in  the  girl  beckoned  him.  What  would  he 
be  doing  if  he  made  her  his  wife?  He  felt  sure  that 
she  would  not  covet  the  opportunities  offered  by 
wealth  and  luxury  to  gratify  personal  vanities  and 
sensual  indulgence;  but  could  she  find  happiness  in 
such  surroundings?  She  was  of  the  people,  whose 
aspirations  were  just  to  live,  whose  ideal  lay  in  com 
fortable  existence.  He  had  a  soul  panting  for  the 
water-brooks  of  life,  and  unless  her  soul  urged  her 
to  keep  pace  with  him  they  must  eventually  drift 
and  separate. 

No.  For  her  sweet  sake  he  must  put  away  the 
day-dream  and  send  her  back  to  the  hills,  as  free  as 
the  birds  she  loved,  to  mate,  like  them,  with  her 
own  kind.  Mrs.  Payne  was  probably  even  now 
preaching  the  same  ideas  to  the  girl. 

Whatever  moral   reforms   were  progressing   in 


258  CASA  GRANDE 

Belle,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  her  physical  im 
provement.  She  was  able  to  leave  her  bed  an  hour 
or  two  each  day,  walk  unaided  a  few  steps,  and  her 
speech  was  almost  normal  again.  She  was  sitting 
before  a  blaze  of  pine  logs,  their  resinous  odour  per 
fuming  the  crisp  air  that  drifted  through  the  open 
door.  Mrs.  Payne  was  alone  with  her,  giving  the 
girl's  toilet  a  conventional  finish.  She  was  coaxing 
back  the  natural  crimp  to  long-tangled  hair,  and  had 
brushed  it  low  over  the  forehead.  This  little  change 
removed  the  austere  effect  of  locks  drawn  stiffly 
back  and  made  a  soft  framing  for  the  wide  brow. 

The  city  woman  fetched  the  tray  from  her  trunk 
and  set  it  on  a  chair  close  to  Belle.  The  girl  beheld 
with  wonder  the  marvels  of  daintiness  packed  in  the 
receptacle,  and  with  even  greater  fascination  she 
watched  Mrs.  Payne  fold  and  unfold  her  various 
belongings,  articles  that  seemed  to  the  invalid's  un 
accustomed  eyes  like  fabrics  of  cobweb.  Materials 
were  there  that  she  never  had  dreamed  of — stock 
ings  and  mits  of  silk,  woollens  of  the  fleeciest  tex 
ture,  cambrics  and  laces  quite  transparent.  She  con 
trasted  these  things  with  her  own  garments  of  cotton 


THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME      259 

flour  sacks,  even  the  printed  letters  still  evident ;  her 
home-knit  stockings  of  stout  blue  wool;  her  gloves 
of  heavy  buckskin ;  and  the  contrast  fetched  a  pang 
of  regret.  She  had  been  brought,  at  last,  in  contact 
with  luxury,  and  she  saw  how  far  she  was  removed 
from  the  women  of  her  host's  set. 

Not  alone  the  garments  in  the  tray,  but  the  deft 
ness  of  the  wearer,  held  the  girl's  attention.  Mrs. 
Payne's  hands  were  little  and  soft  and  exquisitely 
turned.  They  never  had  known  toil,  had  been  pro 
tected  from  even  the  discolouring  effects  of  sun  and 
wind,  and  the  lady  displayed  them  with  pardonable 
vanity.  Belle  heretofore  had  gazed  at  them  as  at  an 
infant's,  without  envy.  The  slender  nails,  pink,  with 
deep  moons,  and  carefully  trimmed ;  the  white  skin, 
as  white  as  the  arms ;  the  light,  firm  grasp  of  fingers 
— all  were  charming  in  this  woman  of  leisure,  but 
not  to  be  envied  by  a  toiler  whose  labour  was  as 
rough  as  the  mountain  girl's. 

Perhaps  the  reason  why  Miller  treated  his  latest 
guest  with  marked  deference  was  because  she  was 
dainty  and  baby-like.  Perhaps  he  preferred  his 
woman  to  be  like  Mrs.  Payne,  with  nothing  to  con- 


260  CASA  GRANDE 

sider  but  personal  appearance  and  the  decoration  of 
home.  She  always  had  regarded  such  an  existence 
with  contempt,  as  unworthy  the  ideal  of  a  true 
woman,  but  if  he  favoured  it,  there  must  be  some 
thing  worthy,  and  she  should  try  to  find  it. 

Belle's  close  study  of  Mrs.  Payne  and  her  belong 
ings  rather  pleased  the  older  woman,  who  appre 
ciated  that  the  motive  was  less  curiosity  than  a  de 
sire  to  know.  A  way  at  last  had  opened  to  show  the 
girl  how  hopeless  it  was  to  consider  Miller  as  any 
thing  but  a  good  friend — a  way  delicate  but  impres 
sive.  To  give  Belle  an  opportunity  to  see  how  she 
would  appear  when  arrayed  as  a  woman  of  breeding, 
to  see  that  it  merely  was  appearing,  not  being,  would 
be  the  gentlest  way  to  convince  her  of  the  futility 
of  aspiring  to  culture  and  refinement. 

Mrs.  Payne  took  from  her  tray  a  lace  cape,  threw 
it  around  her  companion's  shoulders,  and  folded  it 
about  the  full  white  throat. 

"Did  you  crochet  it  ?"  innocently  asked  Belle. 

Mrs.  Payne  soberly  answered  that  she  did  not. 
that  she  could  not,  for  it  was  rare  old  lace. 

Belle  fingered  the  fabric,  carefully  scrutinised  it, 


THOU  HIGH-TEST  INSTRUCT  ME      261 

and  asked  if  any  of  Mrs.  Payne's  relatives  had 
made  it. 

"No,  Belle.    I  paid  a  hundred  dollars  for  it." 

The  girl  stared,  but  did  not  speak.  She  was  think 
ing  of  the  folly  of  paying  so  much  for  so  trifling;  an 
ornament. 

Mrs.  Payne  took  next  a  ruby  pin.  Belle  admired 
the  blood-red  flash  of  it,  and  lifted  the  hand  that  held 
it,  to  get  the  reflection,  "Is  that  rare,  too?"  she 
asked. 

Mrs.  Payne  answered  that  her  father  had  given  it 
to  her,  and  that  it  had  cost  a  thousand  dollars. 

The  girl  shrank  from  the  gem.  A  thousand  dol 
lars  for  a  bauble !  It  meant  the  price  of  a  farm  big 
enough  to  support  in  comfort  an  entire  family. 

Mrs.  Payne  laughed  when  she  caught  the  expres 
sion  on  the  invalid's  face.  "You  think  it  extrava 
gant  ?  It  isn't,  child.  We  can  afford  these  luxuries. 
Why  shouldn't  we?  Money  is  good  only  for  the 
pleasure  it  gives." 

"So  many  are  poor,"  quietly  replied  Belle.  She 
hesitated  to  criticise  the  older  woman's  traditions. 

"I  know,  child.     The  poor  benefit  by  the  use  of 


262  CASA  GRANDE 

luxuries.  They  make  the  laces,  they  cut  and  set  the 
gems." 

The  argument  was  unanswerable  to  this  inexperi 
enced  girl,  but  it  also  was  unsatisfactory.  She  must 
not  pick  a  flaw  in  the  reasoning,  but  it  did  not  quiet 
Her  regret. 

Mrs.  Payne,  however,  went  lightly  on  with  her 
task,  and  fastened  the  lace  with  the  ruby  pin,  then 
handed  Belle  a  hand-glass. 

The  girl  gravely  studied  her  image,  and  shyly 
remarked,  "I  never  in  all  my  life  had  so  much  fuss 
ing  over  me." 

Mrs.  Payne  stood  back  to  catch  the  full  effect,  and 
replied,  "If  all  my  fussing  were  as  successful,  I'd  be 
famous !" 

Belle  coloured  happily.  "What  a  change  it  makes ! 
I  look  like  a  lady.  I  mustn't." 

Mrs.  Payne's  face  dulled  a  little,  and  Belle  has 
tened  to  say  that  she  couldn't  ride  the  range  with  her 
hair  like  this. 

"Of  course  not.  But  when  you're  in  the  house — 
when  you  dress  for  company " 

Belle  smiled  at  the  absurdity  of  the  suggestion, 


THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME      263 

and  explained  that  she  was  in  the  house  to  eat  and 
sleep.  As  for  company,  there  might  be  a  dance  three 
or  four  times  a  year,  and  then  she  put  on  finery. 

"But  you're  not  going  on  this  way  forever,  Belle." 
The  married  woman  was  directing  her  companion's 
thoughts  toward  the  topic  uppermost  in  her  own 
mind.  "Some  day  a  man  will  come.  Then  you'll 
want  your  finery." 

"Men  come  now,"  was  the  obtuse  rejoinder,  "and 
I  don't  change  my  fixings." 

Mrs.  Payne  laughed.  Belle  had  not  learned  the 
dissimulation  of  personal  appearance.  "That  shows 
how  little  you  care  for  your  men  acquaintances." 

"I  like  men,  Mrs.  Payne."  The  girl's  hazel  eyes 
looked  up  seriously  into  the  grey  eyes.  "I  like  to  be 
with  them,  to  talk  to  them;  they're  more  friendly 
than  women.  But  we  want  our  home,  and  I'm  too 
busy  to  have  any  courting  around  the  house,  and  too 
tired,  when  night  comes,  to  fix  up." 

Mrs.  Payne's  brain  kept  busily  working.  Her 
protege  was  of  a  type  unfamiliar  and  perplexing, 
and  she  cherished  opinions  which  were  positive; 
among  them,  indifference  for  conventionality,  that 


264  CASA  GRANDE 

powerful  influence  for  the  shaping  of  feminine  char 
acter.  Inexperience  and  sincerity  made  her  oblivious 
to  polite  hints  of  what  is  proper,  and  Mrs.  Payne 
was  forced  to  employ  directness.  She  took  Belle's 
pale  face  in  her  hands  and  searched  deep  as  she 
asked : 

"Have  you  never  thought,  have  you  never 
dreamed,  of  life  with  one  man?" 

The  girl's  frame  quivered  in  an  effort  at  self- 
control,  her  lips  trembled,  and  she  caught  the  hands 
of  the  older  woman  and  buried  her  face  in  them, 
"Mrs.  Payne — I  don't  love  any  one !" 

At  last  she  had  reached  the  girl's  emotions,  and 
the  reaction  on  herself  was  painful.  She  permitted 
the  clinging  hands  to  hold  her  own  a  little  longer, 
then  raised  the  troubled  face. 

"How  old  are  you,  dear?" 

"Nineteen." 

"You're  very  mature.    There's  time " 

"It's  Mr.  Miller's  step,"  interrupted  Belle,  moving 
so  that  she  could  see  the  entrance. 

An  amused  smile  lit  Mrs.  Payne's  face  as  sHe 
also  turned  to  the  open  door.  She  had  caught  no 


THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME      265 

sound  from  Miller  'til  Belle  had  spoken.  "Come  in, 
John,"  she  called.  "I  suppose  you're  looking  for  us." 

"Is  it  an  insinuation  that  I  am  hunting  sun 
beams  ?"  he  gallantly  asked,  from  the  doorway. 

"Belle  ? — or  me  ?"  The  hesitation  was  on  purpose 
to  tease. 

"Both,"  was  the  ready  reply.  "Rosy  dawn  and 
the  full  light  of  noon."  He  complacently  regarded 
his  married  guest.  "Going  to  a  party,  Belle?" 

She  smiled  happily,  and  shyly  replied,  "Fm  prac 
tising  for  the  man  who's  coming  some  day." 

"Do  I  know  him?"  Miller's  manner  at  once  ex 
pressed  interest. 

Belle  shook  her  head  somewhat  stiffly  from  the 
effect  of  the  wound.  "Only  Mrs.  Payne  knows 
him."  She  glanced  slyly  at  the  lady. 

The  lady  laughed  indulgently ;  she  concluded  that 
femininity  is  constant,  though  types  may  change. 
"Come  in,  John,"  she  cordially  urged. 

He  declined,  however.  He  had  been  passing,  and 
yielded  to  the  drop-in-on-you  habit  he  latterly  had 
acquired.  He  hoped  to  find  them  just  as  sunny  at 
dinner-time. 


266  CASA  GRANDE 

But  he  lingered  to  gratify  a  new-found  delight 
in  Belle.  The  change  he  beheld  in  her  appearance 
was  striking,  almost  alarming.  It  showed  at  a 
glance  how  little  removed,  and  yet  how  far,  she  was 
from  the  women  of  his  traditions.  The  looping  of 
tresses,  a  piece  of  rare  lace,  a  costly  gem,  and  she 
did  not  noticeably  differ  from  her  more  cultured 
companion.  Yet  beyond  mere  appearance  he  saw 
the  rugged,  unspoiled  girl  of  the  hills.  He  some 
what  regretfully  wondered  if  he  would  have  her  like 
her  companion ;  he  thought  he  would  if  he  could  keep 
her  always  unspoiled. 

When  he  had  ridden  out  of  the  gateway,  and  the 
beat  of  his  horse's  hoofs  no  longer  rang  in  the  court 
yard,  Belle  quietly  remarked :  "He  sees  everything. 
He  noticed  even  the  change  in  my  hair." 

Mrs.  Payne  was  beginning  to  understand.  Her 
companion's  primitive  spirit  had  yet  to  recognise  its 
own  emotions.  Belle  did  not  realise  how  fervent 
was  her  regard  for  Miller,  how  greatly  he  influ 
enced  her.  Now  was  the  time  to  rouse  her  conscious 
ness,  to  point  out  what  the  end  must  be,  regardless 
of  the  suffering  it  might  cause. 


THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME      267 

The  older  woman  put  a  crimson  ribbon  about 
Belle's  neck  and  knotted  it  to  hide  the  scar.  "There ! 
I  wonder  if  he'll  notice  what  that's  for?  He's  a 
man  to  adore  daintiness." 

The  convalescent  resented  this  estimate  of  her 
ideal.  She  remembered  all  he  had  done  for  her,  and 
she  knew  that  daintiness  had  been  the  least  of  her 
attractions.  "I  thought  better  of  him,"  she  said, 
with  a  sigh ;  "that  he  valued  character  above  every 
thing." 

"He  does,  dear."  She  took  a  sprig  of  tollon  ber 
ries  from  the  vase  and  twined  it  in  the  girl's  hair. 
"His  test  of  character  is  daintiness — not  in  dress 
alone,  but  in  voice,  in  manner." 

"Weren't  all  the  women  dainty  that  he  knew  when 
he  knew  you?"  she  asked,  with  a  note  of  anxiety 
lest  her  companion  had  judged  correctly. 

Mrs.  Payne  hastened  to  remove  Belle's  misconcep 
tion,  and  assured  her  that  too  much  attention  to 
dress  tended  to  make  women  loud  in  both  voice  and 
manner,  to  make  them  self-conscious.  Moreover, 
Miller  might  not  then  have  been  ready  to  marry, 
even  if  he  had  met  an  ideal  woman. 


268  CASA  GRANDE 

Belle  could  not  comprehend  her  companion's  rea 
soning,  and  declared  that  he  was  not  likely  to  find 
his  ideal  among  the  women  he  now  met. 

"I'm  not  so  certain,"  replied  Mrs.  Payne.  "He 
may  think  he  has  found  her;  and  marry  her;  and 
be  disappointed  in  her ;  and  tire  of  her." 

Belle  seriously  reflected  whether  or  not  the  prob 
lem  was  personal  to  her;  then  she  remarked,  "It 
seems  to  me  that  most  married  persons  do  that." 

"Perhaps.  Would  you,  then,  marry  with  that 
prospect  ?" 

"I  don't  want  to  marry !"  Tears  came  to  her  eyes. 
"Life  has  been  good  to  me — until  my  wound.  But 
I'm  content,  now."  She  leaned  back  and  gazed  rest- 
fully  at  the  blue  sky  through  the  window. 

"But  if  you  should  marry?" 

Belle  turned  a  shining  face,  and  answered,  bright 
ly  :  "He  must  be  resolute  and  gentle  and  true;  leave 
me  in  the  morning  with  kisses,  welcome  me  at  night 
with  both  arms !" 

The  older  woman  moved  a  chair  near  Belle  and 
sat  reflectively  facing  her.  She  recalled  the  many 
who  had  cherished  just  such  fancies,  seldom  to  be 


THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME      269 

realised.  "How  shall  you  know  when  you  have  met 
a  man  with  those  traits — how  win  him  ?" 

The  girl  rocked  contentedly,  and  replied,  "I 
couldn't  love  any  one  else ;  could  I  ?" 

"That's  the  love  of  your  fancy."  Mrs.  Payne 
shook  her  head  regretfully.  "In  life  it's  different." 

"How  is  it  in  life?" 

"Love  may  come  unsought,  unexpected;  you'll 
know  when  it  challenges.  But  to  hold  it !  To  keep 
it  warm  and  living!  That  must  be  learned  from 
ceaseless  endeavour." 

Belle  stopped  rocking.  There  was  a  shade  of  long 
ing,  of  disappointment,  in  her  companion's  voice 
that  she  had  not  caught  before.  Perhaps  this  gra 
cious,  self-contained  woman  was  not  so  happy  as 
she  appeared.  Perhaps  her  experience  might  hold 
a  lesson  for  an  untried  girl.  The  beginner  asked 
another  question : 

"How  can  love  be  held?" 

"I  haven't  learned ;  I've  only  theories." 

"What  are  they?" 

"Be  sure  of  love  before  we  marry;  lose  our  iden 
tity  in  our  husband's  afterward." 


270  CASA  GRANDE 

"How  can  we  be  sure  of  love?" 

Mrs.  Payne  said  she  considered  this  a  difficult 
question.  She  thought  love  might  be  tested  by  trial ; 
by  what  we  are  willing  to  renounce  for  it;  by  any 
stress  that  will  prove  the  attraction  holier  than  mere 
desire. 

Belle  dreamily  studied  the  fire,  and  asked:  "Is 
that  what  is  meant  by  saying  that  true  love  never 
flows  smoothly  ?" 

"Probably.  Those  old  sayings  have  been  shaped 
from  countless  heartaches." 

Belle  rocked  softly.  The  light  on  her  face  was 
not  the  glow  of  the  flame,  but  diviner.  All  uncon 
scious  of  it,  she  had  been  sorely  tried  in  lov 
ing;  she  had  struggled  against  it,  perhaps  not 
bravely,  but  passionately;  she  had  suffered  for 
it,  even  to  the  shadow  of  death.  The  reason 
ing  part  of  her  did  not  realise  the  stress  she 
had  been  put  under,  but  the  soul  of  her  knew 
and  rejoiced,  for  had  it  not  met  his  soul  face 
to  face?  And  is  not  a  glad  soul  the  fount  of 
happiness?  She  spoke  at  last,  as  if  stating  a  final 
conclusion : 


THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME      271 

"If  we  have  to  battle  for  it,  then  we  can  be  cer 
tain  we  love  truly." 

Mrs.  Payne  looked  kindly  into  the  interested  face. 
She  beheld  a  rapture  that  few  are  permitted  to  see, 
because  few  that  see  perceive.  It  was  a  beauty  too 
elusive  for  commonplace  vision,  yet  it  suggested  a 
strength,  a  passion  of  loving,  that  thrilled  the  fet 
tered  soul  of  the  conventional  woman. 

She  wavered  in  her  resolution  to  come  between 
this  girl  and  the  man  who,  of  all  others,  knew  and 
would  preserve  the  treasure  of  such  adoration,  and 
she  wondered  if  divine  love  does  outweigh  all  other 
considerations.  Not  for  long,  however,  did  she 
doubt  her  traditions.  The  habit  of  a  lifetime  cannot 
be  eradicated  in  the  impulse  of  a  moment,  and  when 
she  saw  how  elemental  in  both  body  and  soul  was 
this  child  of  nature,  she  decided  that  Miller  never 
could  be  happy  with  her. 

It  became,  then,  simply  a  consideration  of  per 
mitting  the  affair  between  the  young  people  to  go 
on  with  Eden-like  joyousness  now,  to  be  followed 
by  a  lifetime  of  suffering;  or  of  causing  anguish 
now,  deep  and  hopeless  as  it  might  be,  but  followed 


272  CASA  GRANDE 

by  lifelong-  thankfulness.  She  decided  on  the  latter 
alternative,  and  said,  in  reply  to  Belle's  last  remark : 

"We  may  love  truly,  but  not  wisely.  We  might 
love  out  of  our  class ;  would  that  be  a  sign  of  loving 
worthily?" 

Belle  resented  the  suggestion  of  class,  and  quickly 
answered,  "In  the  West  one  is  as  good  as  another." 

Mrs.  Payne  saw  the  resentment,  and  gently  re 
plied  :  "No,  dear ;  I  don't  mean  that.  You  wouldn't 
have  Mr.  Miller  marry  a  squaw,  or  a  negress,  or  a 
woman  all  her  life  a  drudge?" 

The  invalid  turned  away  her  face  and  dejectedly 
leaned  back.  Problems  that  already  she  had  been 
conscious  of  but  dimly  this  woman  now  put  in  the 
light  of  every-day  experience.  Perhaps  birth  does 
set  limitations.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the  ecstasy  of 
loving  must  pass  with  youth,  to  be  followed  by  the 
toleration  or  indifference  of  maturity  and  marriage. 
The  thoughts  pressed  wearily,  and  she  aimlessly 
gazed  in  the  glass  still  in  her  hand.  One  hope  was 
left,  and  she  diffidently  asked : 

"How  long  did  it  take  you  to  learn  to  be  dainty — 
and — and ?" 


THOU  MIGHTEST  INSTRUCT  ME      273 

Mrs.  Payne  saw  the  purpose  of  the  question,  and 
hesitated  to  speak  the  truth.  "I  don't  know.  I  can't 
remember." 

"Have  you  always  been  so?" 

"I  suppose  I  must  have  passed  through  the  hoy- 
denish  period  of  girlhood." 

"Didn't  any  one  teach  you,  then  ?" 

"Yes.  Father,  mother,  friends.  It  was  in  the 
atmosphere  that  surrounded  me." 

"Is  it  the  only  way  to  learn?" 

"I  know  no  other,  dear." 

Belle  rose  unsteadily  and,  in  a  weak  voice,  said : 
"I'm  tired,  Mrs.  Payne.  I'll  lie  down,  please." 

Mrs.  Payne  arranged  the  bed  with  maternal  so 
licitude.  She  had  succeeded  in  creating  doubt  in 
Belle's  mind,  and  the  result  was  distressing  to  her 
as  well  as  to  the  girl.  She  had  aroused  deep  and 
tender  feelings,  betraying  a  soul  that  would  suffer 
unflinchingly  and  grow  strong  from  it.  She  con 
soled  herself,  however,  by  reflecting  that  the  disap 
pointment  of  anticipation  is  easier  borne  than  the 
disappointment  of  realisation. 

When  the  shades  were  drawn  and  the  invalid  was 


274  CASA  GRANDE 

covered  with  a  bright-coloured  blanket,  the  nurse 
tenderly  bent  to  her  patient,  smoothed  back  the 
hair  from  her  troubled  brow  and  kissed  her. 

The  girl  flung  her  arms  about  the  neck  of  the 
older  woman  and  clung,  sobbing.  Her  tears  were 
christening  a  sentiment  born  the  night  of  the  forest 
fire,  and  nameless  till  to-day. 


CHAPTER  XX 
A  WELL  OF  LIVING  WATERS 

IN  the  afternoon  Miller  took  Mrs.  Payne  to  ride. 
She  was  a  skilled  horsewoman,  and  on  the  day 
after  her  arrival  had  claimed  Peggy  for  her  mount. 
She  sat  her  horse  astride,  as  was  Belle's  custom,  and 
thus  avoided  Miller's  objections  to  a  side-saddle  on 
his  favourite  mare,  and  followed  him  with  greater 
security  over  rough  trails. 

Belle  stood  at  a  window  and  watched  the  couple 
pass  down  the  slope  to  the  west.  They  turned  and 
caught  sight  of  her  and  waved  a  salute.  She  could 
but  admire  the  trim,  erect  carriage  of  Mrs.  Payne, 
the  ease  and  grace  of  her  seat,  nearly  as  secure  as 
her  own.  With  all  the  girl's  dash  and  freedom,  even 
picturesqueness,  on  horseback,  she  had  to  confess  a 
something  in  the  air  of  the  older  woman  that  gave 
superior  charm  to  her  less  daring  riding. 

She  sighed,  and  went  slowly  back  to  her  place  be- 


276  CASA  GRANDE 

fore  the  fire.  Her  face,  pressed  against  the  bearskin 
rug  across  the  back  of  the  chair,  looked  white  and 
old,  but  the  lines  of  her  mouth  were  firm;  the  femi 
nine  love  of  adornment  was  becoming  conscious,  and 
a  resolution  was  forming  to  give  more  attention 
to  personal  appearance — why,  it  did  not  occur  to 
her. 

The  riding  companions  enjoyed  a  pleasant  com 
radeship,  for  Mrs.  Payne  delighted  in  the  exercise 
and  admired  her  relative.  Consequently,  they  were 
away  in  the  saddle  every  pleasant  afternoon  until 
after  sunset,  and  freshness  was  coming  back  to  her. 

They  were  going  quietly  side  by  side,  and  he  took 
advantage  of  the  pace  to  ask :  "What  are  you  trying 
to  do  with  Belle?" 

His  companion  looked  quizzically  at  him,  and  an 
swered  :  "To  see  what  she'll  look  like  if  civilised." 

"Well?" 

Her  face  was  turned  away  as  she  quietly  replied : 
"She  is  hopeless.  You  must  give  her  up." 

He  coloured  a  little  at  finding  how  ill  he  had 
cloaked  his  feelings,  and  asked  why  he  should  give 
her  up. 


A  WELL  OF  LIVING  WATERS         277 

"Oh,  John!  After  your  mother  and  sisters — all 
your  womankind!" 

"Is  she  so  very  different?" 

"The  difference  between  refinement  and  vulgar 
ity,"  she  replied,  with  sudden  warmth. 

Her  show  of  resentment  amused  him.  He  sus 
pected  that  she  was  influenced  by  feeling  rather  than 
judgment,  and  he  lightly  demanded:  "How  long 
have  you  known  Belle?" 

"Long  enough  to  feel  her  vulgarity." 

He  remarked  that  roughness  was  a  better  word 
than  vulgarity  to  describe  Belle's  nature,  and  asked 
if  his  companion  had  not  yet  detected  an  innate 
sweetness  that  might,  under  favourable  circum 
stances,  develop  into  refinement. 

Mrs.  Payne  admitted  that  there  was  a  deep  vein 
of  womanliness  in  the  girl,  but,  notwithstanding 
that,  he  must  confess  that  she  was  content  to  be  a 
sordid  drudge. 

"Your  life,  Mabel,  has  been  so  different  from  hers 
that  you  don't  appreciate  her  resoluteness  and  am 
bition." 

"I  know  she's  poor,  but  she's  attractive,  and  in 


278  CASA  GRANDE 

this  land  of  few  women  she  might  easily  marry  a 
rich  man  of  her  own  class,  and  be  somebody,  had 
she  the  spirit." 

He  softly  laughed,  and  declared  that  because  Belle 
determined  to  work  up  unaided  was  why  he  ap 
proved  of  her.  It  implied  energy,  self-reliance  and, 
above  all,  honesty.  The  Clark  family  had  been  pros 
perous  before  he  put  them  off  his  land.  He  told  this 
with  evident  regret. 

Here  was  another  complication  in  the  young  peo 
ple's  lives,  and  his  view  of  it  must  be  reported  to 
Mrs.  Payne.  After  she  had  heard  the  story,  she 
called  Miller  Belle's  Nemesis,  and  insisted  that  his 
feeling  was  largely  contrition — first  for  putting  her 
off  his  land,  then  for  the  shooting  of  her. 

"Contrition  may  have  drawn  me  to  her,"  he  ad 
mitted;  "but  I  found  her  true,  strong  and  tender." 

"I'm  afraid  you're  in  love,  John,"  she  de 
clared,  without  ridicule,  "and,  like  all  lovers,  you 
idealise." 

"What  a  romancer  you  are!  Can't  you  see  she 
possesses  restlessness  and  energy  that  will  hew  a 
way  to  distinction  ?  Half  your  prosperous  city  men 


A  WELL  OF  LIVING  WATERS          279 

began  life  as  obscure  as  Belle;  half  your  society  lead 
ers  were  reared  on  the  farm." 

"Then  breeding  is  of  no  consequence?" 

"Not  without  selection." 

She  wanted  to  know  what  process  of  selection 
Miller  would  rely  on  to  develop  Belle. 

"Environment." 

It  was  now  her  turn  to  be  amused,  and  she  asked 
what  evidence  he  had  that  Belle  would  be  unusually 
susceptible  to  environment. 

In  his  own  mind,  he  had  been  over  the  proof 
more  than  once,  and  he  quickly  replied  that,  for 
one  thing,  she  was  superior  to  her  backwoods 
associates,  and,  though  illiterate,  by  no  means 
ignorant. 

"Idealising  again,"  observed  Mrs.  Payne,  to 
whom  ignorance  and  illiteracy  were  nothing  but 
synonymous. 

"Try  her  yourself,  Mabel.  There  isn't  a  bird  fre 
quenting  these  woods  that  she  can't  describe,  even 
to  the  number  and  colour  of  its  eggs  and  what  it 
feeds  its  young.  There  isn't  a  tree  she  can't  point 
out." 


280  CASA  GRANDE 

The  expression  of  amusement  was  brightening  on 
his  companion's  face. 

"There  isn't  a  flower  she  doesn't  know,"  he  went 
on,  "even  to  the  week  it  should  first  bloom.  They're 
all  hers,  since  she  has  names  for  them — baby-blue 
eyes,  black-eyed  Susans,  Johnny  jump-ups ;  here  and 
there  a  Spanish  name — copa  de  oro  for  poppy, 
tollon  for  your  Christmas  berries.  And  the  shy 
beauties  that  grow  in  out-of-the-way  places — tiger 
lilies,  anemones,  azaleas — she'll  take  you  to  all  of 
them." 

"She  should  write  a  book,  John." 

"Her  knowledge  of  natural  history  would  fill  a 
book,"  he  blandly  declared,  "and  no  mean  contribu 
tion  to  science,  either." 

Mrs.  Payne  smiled  at  his  enthusiasm.  She  told 
him  that  all  he  had  said  only  proved  Belle  still  a 
child,  with  all  a  child's  ardour. 

"Yes,"  he  sighed;  "we  were  all  children  once, 
with  a  love  of  simple  things.  Most  of  us  lose  our 
artlessness  long  before  we  reach  her  age — the  get 
ting  of  many  dollars  or  costly  gowns  ranking  higher 
in  our  ambitions. 


A  WELL  OF  LIVING  WATERS         281 

Mrs.  Payne  had  not  heard  all  he  said,  and  absently 
responded :  "Yes;  I  suppose  so.  But  I  fear  it  is  late 
to  attempt  the  refining  of  her,"  she  concluded,  with  a 
touch  of  obstinacy. 

"Perhaps,  Mabel.  You  startled  me  to-day,  how 
ever,  by  the  change  you  made  in  her  appearance." 

"It  was  only  appearance.  Underneath  her  adorn 
ments  was  the  rough  Belle." 

He  suggested  that  if  the  girl  were  more  frequently 
adorned  the  roughness  might  gradually  disappear. 

Mrs.  Payne  still  insisted  that  Belle  lacked  native 
refinement,  and  was  too  old  to  acquire  it. 

He  was  disposed  to  change  the  topic,  but  it  oc 
curred  to  him  that  his  companion  had  been  discuss 
ing  the  matter  with  the  invalid,  and,  lest  the  more 
experienced  woman's  opinions  prevail,  he  decided 
to  attack  them,  and  introduce,  if  possible,  an  element 
of  doubt  in  her  tradition- warped  mind.  In  a  tone 
of  banter,  he  asked : 

"What  is  refinement,  Mabel?" 

She  laughed,  and  replied:  "As  if  you  didn't 
know!" 

"Perhaps  our  ideas  differ,"  he  solemnly  rejoined. 


282  CASA  GRANDE 

She  said  she  did  not  believe  it ;  that  to  both,  refine 
ment  meant  the  graciousness  resulting  from  good 
breeding. 

"Isn't  that  polish?"  he  asked,  the  suspicion  of  a 
smile  on  his  lips. 

"All  refined  persons  are  polished." 

"Are  all  the  polished  refined?" 

"You're  trying  to  trap  me,"  she  declared,  with  an 
air  of  being  too  shrewd  for  that. 

"I'm  as  serious  as  a  meeting-house." 

"Oh !  If  you're  going  to  pin  me  down,  I  suppose 
there  are  comparatively  few  refined  persons." 

He  removed  his  hat  and  ran  his  fingers  through 
his  thick,  wavy  hair,  deep  content  in  his  face.  "What 
makes  the  few  refined  ?" 

She  said  she  didn't  know — hadn't  thought.  She 
threw  a  swift  glance  of  admiration  at  him,  and 
added:  "You're  refined,  John.  I  suppose  you'll 
claim  it's  soul." 

He  looked  the  amusement  he  felt,  leaned  over,  and 
laid  his  hand  on  hers. 

She  deftly  avoided  him,  and  declared  that  she  was 
not  to  be  caressed  into  flying  in  the  face  of  all  her 


A  WELL  OF  LIVING  WATERS          283 

traditions.  And  even  if  Belle  had  a  soul,  he  wouldn't 
claim  she  was  refined ! 

"No.  Not  yet.  But  if  she  has  a  soul,  she  has 
something  to  refine.  Perhaps  she  needs  fire." 

"Poor  child!  Is  there  no  other  way?"  A  catch 
was  in  Mrs.  Payne's  voice  as  she  beseechingly  turned 
to  him.  "You're  not  going  to  be  the  fire?" 

"Not  consciously." 

"But  think  of  the  hold  you  are  gaining  on  her 
affections !" 

He  calmly  answered  that,  after  all,  affection  is  the 
test  of  fitness. 

"But  you  want  something  besides  that,"  persisted 
Mrs.  Payne,  more  baffled  than  ever  by  his  manner. 

"What,  for  instance?" 

"Why, style, wit,  accomplishment — many  things!" 
she  irritably  answered. 

"Then,  how  is  it  that  men  desert  such  women  for 
those  your  sex  term  doll-faces — the  clinging,  de 
pendent  characters?" 

"Because  all  men  are  fools !"  she  indignantly  re 
plied.  She  had  never  belonged  to  the  doll-face 
class. 


284  CASA  GRANDE 

"No,  no !    Liars  is  the  word  St.  Paul  used." 

The  crisp  air,  the  swinging  pace  of  the  horses,  the 
whistle  of  larks  aslant  the  setting  sun,  the  quail- 
calls — all  lent  joy  to  their  outing;  and  she  laughed 
with  him,  as  she  teasingly  asked :  "You  tell  me  why 
your  sex  admires  the  simpletons  in  ours.  You  ap 
pear  to  have  given  it  much  study/" 

"Haven't  you  learned,"  he  demanded,  with  as 
sumed  superiority,  "that  women  with  opinions  are 
not  near  so  charming  as  those  that  listen  in  rapt  ad 
miration  to  our  pet  theories,  our  marvellous  discov 
eries?" 

"Men  are  so  vain !" 

"And  when  we  are  ill,"  he  continued,  "the  cling 
ing  women  know  what  to  do.  They  never  make  dis 
agreeable  remarks  about  where  we  were  last  night,  or 
what  we  were  about;  they  do  things  with  the  gen 
tlest  of  touches,  the  softest  of  voices.  And  when  we 
growl  and  scold,  they  don't  answer  back." 

"Men  are  so  selfish !" 

"But  the  real  explanation,  Mabel,"  he  more  seri 
ously  went  on,  ignoring  her  thrusts,  "is  that  clinging 
women  are  maternal.  On  such  abstractions,  men 


A  WELL  OF  LIVING  WATERS          285 

reason  no  more  than  horses.  But  they  have  in 
stincts." 

"You  don't  consider  Belle  a  clinging  woman?" 

"No.    Maternal." 

"The  everlasting  maternal!"  she  acidly  retorted. 
"I  thought  you  had  a  higher  ideal,  John." 

"Wait  until  you  know  Belle  better,"  he  drawlingly 
suggested,  "before  you  pass  final  judgment.  There 
she  is  at  the  window,  looking  for  us." 

"Us !"  repeated  Mrs.  Payne,  and  softly  laughed. 

The  girl  at  the  window  waved  to  them,  her  face 
giving  back  the  glow  of  the  western  sky. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
WHAT  IS  THY  BELOVED? 

IN  clinging  vestments  of  mist,  Christmas  Day 
crept  down  from  the  eastern  hills.  The  opaque 
sky  pressed  lightly  on  the  olive-coloured  earth,  som 
bre  and  silent  as  death,  a  grave-like  chill  in  the  air. 

At  the  big  house  the  sunlight  of  a  hundred  years 
leaped  soundingly  from  the  dining-room  fireplace 
and  glowed  cheerily  from  the  hearth  in  Belle's  room. 
Crimson  tollon  berries  mingled  with  evergreens  to 
decorate  the  walls,  and  the  warmth  was  redolent  of 
redwood  boughs.  What  mattered  weather  when 
comradeship  vibrated  from  a  dozen  throats  ? 

The  vaqueros,  lounging  about  the  crackling  blaze, 
had  been  their  morning  rounds;  the  well-fed  cattle 
in  the  corrals  chewed  the  cud  of  brute  content;  the 
saddled  ponies,  with  slack  cinches  and  bridles  dang- 
ling  from  pommels,  stood  comfortably  stalled,  each 

head  in  a  manger  bursting  with  meadow  hay;  even 

286 


WHAT  IS  THY  BELOVED?  287 

the  dogs  at  their  master's  feet  stretched  blissfully 
round  the  penetrating  warmth.  And  the  man  in 
whose  heart  was  a  place  for  every  one  of  them  sat 
apart  and  silent,  peace  and  gladness  lighting  his  face 
like  an  unspoken  benediction. 

Manuel  was  master  of  the  hour.  The  costume 
worn  the  day  Belle  renewed  health  and  hope  had 
been  donned,  and  Mrs.  Payne  proclaimed  him 
"chef."  She  and  Mrs.  Clark  were  self-appointed 
aids  to  the  chef,  and  the  three  kept  busy  about  the 
big  stove  hidden  by  a  multitude  of  utensils,  the  cheer 
to  follow  made  evident  by  appetising  odours  floating 
upward  in  a  cloud  of  vapours.  The  doctor,  who  had 
returned  to  complete  his  holiday,  was  ever  ready 
with  caution  lest  many  cooks  spoil  the  broth.  Yet 
the  browning  joints,  the  steaming  puddings,  the  but 
ter-coloured  pies,  in  spite  of  the  caution,  or  because 
of  it,  promised  an  epicurean  feast. 

The  sun  was  an  hour  above  the  hills  when  the 
more  leisurely  members  of  the  family  took  the  places 
at  table  of  the  sated  vaqueros.  Belle's  brother  Wash 
made  the  company  six — a  merry  half-dozen.  To 
three  of  them  the  meal  seemed  a  primitive  repast, 


288  CASA  GRANDE 

but  keen  appetites  and  good-fellowship  supplied 
missing  garnishments.  To  the  other  three  it  seemed  a 
feast  the  gods  themselves  might  linger  over. 

Manuel  proved  as  adept  in  the  dispensing  of  good 
things  as  in  the  preparing  of  them.  He  glided 
swiftly  about  the  table,  attentive  to  all,  but  especially 
solicitous  of  Belle.  He  found  time,  however,  to 
reply  with  gentle  courtesy  to  the  compliments  lav 
ished  on  the  cooking,  and  felt  generously  repaid  for 
his  efforts. 

Dr.  Payne  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  the  old 
servitor,  who,  with  a  grace  that  barred  familiarity, 
was  as  unspoiled  as  a  child.  The  professional  man 
delighted  in  the  sweet  humour,  the  quiet  philosophy, 
of  the  Mexican's  broken  English,  and  to-day  the 
cook  was  called  upon  to  entertain  as  well  as  to  feast, 
his  humour  in  keeping  with  his  impulses. 

"I  suppose  you'll  be  glad  when  the  women  go 
away?"  remarked  the  doctor,  to  test  Manuel's  gal 
lantry. 

"No,  senor;  dam  es-sorry.  Old  house  be  like  Ari 
zona  in  frost;  hear  man  whistle  one  mile!'* 

"They  must  make  lots  of  trouble?" 


WHAT  IS  THY  BELOVED?  289 

"Oh,  yes."  The  inflection  was  rising  and  non 
committal.  "Me  been  marry,  meself." 

"Domestic  troubles  may  be  borne,  eh?"  The  ques 
tioner  smiled  affably.  "But  you  wouldn't  have  Mr. 
Miller  fetch  a  wife  here?" 

"Me  no  know."  A  sudden  depression  clouded  the 
old  man's  manner.  "Been  theenking — no  like  go 
'way." 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  in  feigned  sur 
prise;  "he  hasn't  said  anything?" 

"No.  Meestah  Jone  no  talk."  Manuel  sagely 
shook  his  head.  "Pero  me  es-see  heem  lookeeng, 
lookeeng,  all  time  lookeeng  la  sefiorita." 

The  speech  was  greeted  with  noisy  merriment.  It 
unfurled  telltale  banners  in  la  senorita's  cheeks  and 
caused  John  to  move  uneasily. 

"See  here,  Ned" — the  host  spoke  protestingly — 
"don't  you  think " 

The  tormentor  ignored  the  discomfort  he  was 
causing  two  of  the  company,  and  interrupted  the 
host  by  saying  to  Manuel :  "Mr.  Miller  doesn't  see 
what  his  looking  has  to  do  with  it;  neither  do  I. 
I,  also,  like  to  look  at  the  sefiorita." 


29°  CASA  GRANDE 

"Oh,  yes;  you  dam'  cs-smart  man."  The  cook 
stated  a  fact  without  attempting  to  compliment. 
"Pero  me  savey  es-something — been  marry  three 
times!" 

"Here!  here!"  called  the  doctor,  choking  with 
laughter;  and  Mrs.  Payne,  catching  the  oppor 
tunity  to  divert  the  personality  of  the  dialogue, 
hastened  to  inquire  about  Manuel's  domestic  ex 
periences. 

With  the  unconsciousness  of  a  child,  he  deliber 
ately  began  his  story.  "Me  be  es-soldier  bery  young ; 
nineteen — go  Pueblo  Villages,  New  Mexico.  Next 
year  me  captain;  old  captain  go  back  Mexico.  Me 
es-stay  three,  four  years — learn  es-speak  Pueblo. 
Leetle  more  puddeeng,  senorita?  No?  Bery 
es-sweet.  Pueblo  chief  have  dam'  fine  girl — 'bout 
es-sixteeru  Me  lookeeng  heem — long  time  look- 
eeng." 

He  paused  as  if  memory  had  run  back  again  to 
the  Pueblo  Villages,  with  the  Indian  maiden;  then 
his  face  suddenly  lighted.  "By-an'-by,  es-she  look 
eeng,  too.  Me  like  es-speak;  heem  run  'way — all 
time  run  'way.  Pero  one  time  no  run  fast  'nough. 


WHAT  IS  THY  BELOVED?  291 

Es-she  papa  come  queek,  es-say,  'What  for?'  Me 
say,  'Me  woman,  me  marry/  Pueblo  girl  three  year 
me  wife ;  three  year  heaven." 

He  walked  slowly  to  the  stove,  his  shoulders  bent, 
his  head  shaking.  After  he  had  replenished  the  fire, 
he  gazed  through  the  eastern  windows,  far  beyond 
the  hills,  still  sombre  under  the  grey  sky,  toward  the 
land  of  his  lost  wife.  When  he  walked  back  to  the 
table,  he  stood  gravely  aloof,  his  wrinkled  fingers 
grasping  his  chin.  The  little  party  gossipped 
cheerfully,  but  he  heard  nothing;  the  mist  of  recol 
lection  was  in  his  eyes. 

"Manuel,"  gently  called  Mrs.  Payne,  "  how  about 
the  others?" 

"Next  time  me  marry,"  he  pleasantly  continued, 
"me  leeving  in  Mexico.  Me  wife  reech  girl,  bery 
handsome;  bery  good  es-singing,  dancing,  riding; 
good  clothes.  Es-she  all  time  like  talk  men — plenty 
men.  Be  marry  one  year.  Es-she  cross;  all  time 
talking.  'You  no  make  money ;  no  dance ;  no  es-sing ; 
all  time  es-stay  home/  Me " 

"Why  did  she  marry  you?"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Payne. 


292  CASA  GRANDE 

"Me  no  know.  Me  dam'  fine-lookeeng  es-sol- 
dier." 

He  joined  in  the  laugh  he  had  raised,  not  know 
ing  it  was  the  modesty  of  his  assumption  that  they 
enjoyed. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  returning  to  his  muttons, 
"me  dam'  glad  war  come;  me  go  fighting  one  year. 
Me  dam'  glad  come  back ;  like  es-see  wife.  Pero  no 
find  heem ;  es-she  go  'way  'nother  fallah.  Me  es-say, 
'Go  to  devil.'  Next  day  me  es-saying,  'Keel  heem/ 
Me  find  'em;  es-she  cry,  es-say,  'Keel  me,  no 
keel  heem';  heem  es-say  nothing.  Pah!"  ex 
claimed  the  old  soldier,  his  voice  full  of  disdain. 
"Me  es-say,  'You  two  womans;  no  keel  womans.' 
Me  get  out." 

The  expression  on  the  speaker's  face  told  that  the 
recollection  of  those  early  days  still  could  bring  un- 
happiness,  but  the  accustomed  smile  crept  back  again, 
and  he  continued  his  autobiography : 

"Poco  tiempo,  me  be  quartermaster  Mexico;  no 
can  es-stay.  Es-sometimes  me  friends  es-sorry  for 
me,  es-sometimes  laughing.  By-an'-by  es-soldiers  go 
to  San  Diego,  California;  me  go,  too.  Two,  three 


WHAT  IS  THY  BELOVED?  293 

year  more,  me  marry  California  girl — leave  army. 
Es-she  papa  get  beeg  ranch ;  give  heem  plenty  land, 
plenty  cow,  plenty  horse.  Me  ranchero  twenty  year 
— can  es-stand  heem  no  more;  go  'way.  You  es-see? 
me  marry  three  times  meself." 

He  walked  away  as  if  his  tale  were  ended.  Mrs. 
Payne's  glance  followed  him  questioningly.  He 
made  no  sign  of  continuing  the  narrative,  and  she 
called  to  him : 

"Is  your  last  wife  alive  ?" 

"Me  theenk  es-so." 

The  doctor  looked  amused.  He  knew  his  wife 
would  not  be  satisfied  with  this  non-committal  an 
swer. 

"But,  Manuel,"  she  persisted,  "how  long  since  you 
saw  her?" 

"Five,  seex  year."  He  walked  to  the  window  and 
watched  the  sun  drop  below  the  hills. 

There  was  mischief  in  the  doctor's  expression. 
His  wife  saw  it,  and  she  determined  to  learn  the  par 
ticulars  of  Manuel's  last  venture,  even  if  she  must  be 
somewhat  rude. 

"Come  here,  Manuel !"  she  called. 


294  CASA  GRANDE 

Her  tone  of  command  brought  a  smile  to  her  vic 
tim's  face,  as  he  obediently  went  back. 

"Your  story  isn't  complete.  Why  haven't  you 
seen  number  three  for  so  long?"  The  look  of  friend 
liness  that  invites  men's  confidences  was  in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  me  wife  dam'  fine  woman !"  He  was  on  the 
defensive;  yet,  gallant  as  he  was,  he  felt  that  his 
questioner  sooner  or  later  would  get  at  the  truth. 
He  determined  to  say  only  kind  things  of  the  absent 
one,  and  added :  "Es-she  bery  reech,  bery  hard 
working,  bery,  bery — es-sharp."  He  sighed  his  re 
lief;  he  had  found  the  fit  word  without  compromis 
ing  the  lady. 

Mrs.  Payne  was  satisfied,  however.  The  word 
"sharp"  explained  to  her,  to  the  doctor,  to  Miller, 
why  this  husband  "no  more  can  es-stand  heem."  The 
guileless  face  of  the  old  man  stamped  a  charac 
ter  to  submit  for  twenty  years  to  be  treated  in  his 
own  Household  as  little  better  than  a  hired  man.  Yet 
the  lines  about  his  lips  told  that  when  he  turned  in 
his  tracks  he  would  never  face  about  again. 

"I'll  bet,"  declared  Miller,  breaking  the  silence, 
"that  you  loved  the  little  Indian  girl  best?" 


WHAT  IS  THY  BELOVED?  295 

The  much-married  man  shook  his  head,  and  mus 
ingly  answered :  "Eef  es-she  leeving,  me  no  cooking, 


now." 


Belle  looked  shyly  at  Miller,  then  diffidently 
asked :  "Why  did  you  love  her  best,  Manuel  ?" 

He  laughed  with  embarrassment  at  the  close  scru 
tiny  of  his  domestic  relations,  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders,  and  answered  simply:  "Because  es-she  love 
me." 

"Love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself,"  musingly  ob 
served  the  doctor,  drumming  on  the  table.  "If,  how 
ever,  thy  neighbour  is  thy  wife" — he  smiled  a  little 
foolishly — "obedience  to  the  first  and  great  com 
mandment  wouldn't  be  highly  creditable;  would  it? 
But  if  thy  wife  cherish  also  this  same  command" — 
he  made  a  motion  as  if  waving  back  some  invisible 
thing— "Paradise !  what  need  of  it?" 

Every  one,  to-day,  appeared  to  have  forgotten 
rank  for  love  except  Mrs.  Payne.  She  had  asserted 
twice  since  her  arrival  at  Casa  Grande  that  one 
should  marry  in  his  own  class.  This  bit  of  the  old 
soldier's  experience  cast  some  doubt  on  her  theory, 
and  she  returned  to  the  original  argument. 


296  CASA  GRANDE 

"But,  Manuel,  if  the  Indian  wife  had  lived, 
wouldn't  she  have  tired  as  the  others  did?" 

Again  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  answered: 
"Who  knows?" 

"What  do  you  think  ?"  The  lady  must  have  a  de 
cided  answer. 

"Me  theenk  no.  Vaquero  savey  eef  wild  horse 
good  for  es-saddle  first  time,  ride  heem.  Eef  good 
first  time,  good  all  time.  Man,  woman — all  es-same 
horse." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  protested  Mrs.  Payne. 
In  her  experience  the  selection  of  husband  or  wife 
had  been  a  matter  of  chance. 

"Me  know,"  confidently  asserted  Manuel.  He 
would  prove  it  by  an  example  that  even  Mrs.  Payne 
could  understand.  "Peggy  dam'  fine  es-saddle-horse. 
Me  theenk  es-she  good  first  time  Meestah  Jone  ride 
heem ;  good  all  time." 

"Yes,  Manuel,"  said  Miller;  "the  first  time  I  tried 
her  I  knew  that  every  ounce  of  her  was  horse." 

"Indian  girl  all  es-same.  Es-she  love  heem  papa, 
heem  mamma,  love  me — everybody.  Es-she  bery 
gentle,  bery  kind." 


WHAT  IS  THY  BELOVED?  297 

The  majority  tacitly  approved  of  Manuel's  con 
clusion,  reached  through  personal  experience,  that 
his  first  wife's  love  would  have  borne  the  test  of  time. 

The  doctor  rose  from  the  table  and  stood  observ 
ing  Belle.  "We  haven't  had  a  toast,"  he  remarked. 
"I  offer  this — drunk  in  water:  The  little  Indian 
girl;  God  bless  her  memory  for  keeping  in  one 
man's  regard  a  tender  spot  for  all  women.' ' 

They  drank  in  silence,  their  glances  following  the 
doctor's,  still  fixed  on  Belle.  She  was  far  away  with 
the  Indian  wife,  a  primitive,  almost  naked  character, 
who  had  brought  nothing  to  her  husband  but  love. 
That  she  had  given  joyously,  lavishly,  and  through 
all  his  varied  existence  it  was  the  one  thing  that 
clung  to  him — was  now  the  only  thing  his  memory 
cherished. 

When  she  looked  up  and  found  herself  the  centre 
of  their  regard,  a  sweet  confusion  flooded  her  cheeks 
with  roses. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AND   NONE  WOULD  DESPISE   ME 

NEW  YEAR'S  DAY  at  Casa  Grande  smiled  on 
the  same  little  group  that  had  celebrated 
Christmas.  Dr.  Payne  did  not  weary  of  their  simple, 
unconventional  life,  every  hour  adding  to  his  de 
light,  and  he  still  lingered. 

Although  there  were  no  telegraph  lines,  nor  had 
a  post-route  been  established,  the  fame  of  the  sur 
geon  ran  up  and  down  the  valley,  from  the  little  vil 
lage  of  Santa  Rosa  to  the  steamer  landing  at  the 
Embarcadero.  More  than  one  passer-by  took  advan 
tage  of  the  holiday  and  its  established  custom  to  stop 
at  the  old  place,  the  celebrated  guest  proving  as 
strong  an  attraction  as  the  bowl  of  egg-nogg  on  the 
dining-room  table. 

Since  Miller  had  bought  the  ranch  his  house  had 

gained  the  reputation  of  a  mansion  of  many  wel- 

298 


AND  NONE  WOULD  DESPISE  ME     299 

comes ;  somewhat  rough  and  primitive,  perhaps ;  yet 
all  who  travelled  that  way  considered  themselves 
invited.  A  woman  now  had  come,  and  everywhere 
were  softness  and  femininity;  the  finer  hospitality 
none  the  less  hearty,  however. 

The  doctor  and  his  host  had  been  riding  all  morn 
ing.  They  had  wandered  indifferently  under  a  clear 
blue  sky  in  the  crisp  sunlight,  two  care-free  com 
panions.  They  had  hung  across  corral  fences  and 
watched  the  logy  cattle.  They  had  stood  on  the 
banks  of  Aguas  Frias,  the  first  run  of  salmon-trout 
flashing  by  fearlessly.  They  turned  in  their  saddles, 
at  the  top  of  the  hills,  to  gaze  across  the  little  valley, 
on  the  olive-green  mantle  of  the  folding  earth  drop 
ping  lightly  down. 

When  the  horsemen  got  back  to  the  dwelling  the 
sheriff  was  one  of  the  visitors.  He  had  on  company 
clothing,  and  likewise  company  manners,  evidence 
that  his  presence  was  unofficial.  It  was  the  first  time 
Mrs.  Payne  had  met  him,  and  he  had  not  long  been 
in  the  house  before  she  concluded  that  his  was  not 
necessarily  a  New  Year's  call. 

Bailey  was  a  man  of  infrequent  emotions,  and 


300  CASA  GRANDE 

when  they  were  roused  he  was  too  unconscious  to 
hide  them.  He  had  not  seen  Belle  for  days,  and  as 
soon  as  she  came  into  the  room  an  unusual  charm 
in  her  appearance  deeply  moved  him,  and  he  made 
no  effort  to  veil  his  admiration — to  her  annoyance 
and  Mrs.  Payne's  satisfaction. 

The  married  woman  had  at  last  found  a  happy 
solution  of  the  problem  long  on  her  mind.  Belle  and 
Bailey  were  of  the  same  class.  He  certainly  was 
prosperous,  and  had  a  commanding  personality. 
These  two  would  be  better  mated  than  Belle  and 
Miller,  a  conclusion  that  gained  for  the  newcomer 
Mrs.  Payne's  sympathy,  and  her  influence  in  secur 
ing  an  interview  with  Belle,  which  the  young  lady 
very  deftly  cut  short. 

All  this  had  happened  before  Miller  returned. 
When  Mrs.  Payne  saw  the  two  men  together,  and 
observed  their  manner  toward  the  girl,  a  sense  of 
having  blundered  dismayed  the  older  woman,  for 
Bailey's  roughness  brought  Belle's  innate  sweetness 
into  glaring  contrast,  gave  it  a  prominence  that  had 
not  been  evident  in  association  with  Miller.  Mrs. 
Payne  therefore  decided  to  interfere  no  further  in 


AND  NONE  WOULD  DESPISE  ME      301 

the  sheriff's  behalf  until  she  more  carefully  had 
studied  his  character. 

Dinner  was  served  late,  and  the  company  lingered 
in  the  big,  cheery  room,  after  the  meal  was  over, 
until  the  sun  slanted  through  the  western  windows. 
A  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the  courtyard,  the  barking  of 
dogs,  took  all  to  the  open  door,  and  they  saw  a  half- 
dozen  horsemen  lifting  a  companion  from  his  saddle. 

The  man  had  ridden,  with  unconscious  pluck,  five 
miles  from  the  squatter  settlement  in  Dry  Creek 
Valley.  His  eyes  were  staring,  his  face  white,  and 
on  the  towel  roughly  bound  about  his  head  was  a 
ragged,  crimson  stain.  They  took  him  before  the 
glowing  hearth  and  set  him  in  a  comfortable  chair, 
faint  and  shivering  from  cold  and  pain.  The  doctor 
gave  a  stimulant,  drew  off  the  coarse  boots,  covered 
him  with  a  blanket,  and  soon  had  him  easier. 

Then  the  physician  turned  to  the  men  who  had 
fetched  the  patient  and  asked  the  cause  of  the  wound. 
Belle's  presence  gave  them  confidence,  and  they 
gathered  about  her  with  a  gladness  apparent  to  any 
reader  of  signs.  The  man  had  been  wounded  in  a 
drunken  quarrel  while  attempting  to  protect  a  neigh- 


302  CASA  GRANDE 

hour  from  her  husband's  fist.  They  had  been  celebrat 
ing  the  new  year,  and  the  accident  had  ended  the 
spree  and  sobered  the  revellers — all  but  Bill  Scott, 
the  one  who  had  done  the  shooting. 

"Bill  Scott's  an  idle,  worthless  bully,"  said  Belle, 
"and  he  can  thank  his  wife  for  having  even  a  home. 
She  would  be  well  rid  of  him." 

"Served  me  right,"  declared  the  wounded  man, 
speaking  weakly,  but  without  resentment.  "I  had 
no  call  to  put  in  my  lip." 

"Come,  friend,"  protested  the  doctor;  "you  did 
a  gallant  deed,  one  worthy  of  a  man." 

"I'm  not  regretting  that,  doc,"  cheerfully  replied 
the  patient.  "If  the  like  of  me  keep  out  of  family 
jars,  the  like  of  Mrs.  Scott  wouldn't  live  with  such 
men." 

"They  must  marry,"  suggested  Mrs.  Payne.  She 
spoke  with  a  rising  inflection,  however,  as  if  there 
might  be  an  alternative. 

"Yes,"  drily  admitted  the  wounded  man ;  "mules, 
or  a  wench  with  a  fist  as  heavy  as  a  mule's  foot. 
Some  one  as  '11  throw  'em  out  when  drunk."  In 
this  man's  philosophy  there  must  be  selection  be- 


AND  NONE  WOULD  DESPISE  ME      303 

tween  members  of  even  the  same  class,  and  Mrs. 
Payne  was  dimly  conscious  that  domestic  compli 
cations  are  not  wholly  dependent  on  questions  of 
breeding. 

"Bill  Scott's  wife  might  be  somebody  if  she  wasn't 
tied  to  him,"  declared  Belle.  "Even  as  it  is,  she's  the 
whole  outfit !" 

"I  don't  see  why  she  stays  with  that  skunk."  The 
wounded  man  spoke  irritably,  and  unconsciously  put 
his  hand  to  his  head. 

Belle's  face  expressed  disgust  as  she  replied :  "We 
all  know  why.  She's  good  and  faithful,  and  he'll  be 
as  meek  as  Moses  for  the  next  month.  She'll  for 
give  him,  as  she  always  does.  Are  you  in  pain?" 

"Come,  now,  clear  out!"  the  doctor  good- 
naturedly  ordered.  "We're  getting  our  man  worked 
up  over  this,  and  I  must  see  to  his  hurt." 

The  wound  was  serious,  but  not  dangerous.  The 
bullet  had  grazed  the  skull,  without  fracturing  it, 
and  some  stitches  had  to  be  taken  in  the  scalp.  While 
the  doctor  was  dressing  the  injury,  he  was  sur 
rounded  with  sympathetic  helpers,  Miller,  Manuel, 
Belle,  Mrs.  Clark,  each  serving  with  kindly  office  or 


304  CASA  GRANDE 

kindlier  sentiment.  Bailey  sat  apart,  and  for  once 
watched  the  others,  without  comment. 

Under  their  soothing  influence  the  patient  soon 
cheered  up  and  humorously  described  the  morning's 
dissipation.  Life  on  the  frontier  is  too  natural,  too 
childlike,  to  be  long  depressed.  Sympathy  is  a  full, 
deep  current,  on  which  float  lightly  unspoiled  emo 
tions. 

The  neighbours  waited  contentedly  for  the  opera 
tion  to  be  over,  and  smoked  familiar  cigarettes  with 
the  vaqueros  who  lounged  about  the  courtyard.  The 
friendly  attitude  of  the  two  factions,  mingling  thus 
for  the  first  time  in  months,  gave  no  hint  of  past 
strained  relations.  The  fire  of  resentment,  if  it 
smouldered,  was  overlaid  by  the  ashes  of  more  im 
minent  necessity,  and  as  long  as  their  comrade  was 
in  no  present  danger,  their  errand  of  distress  became 
part  of  the  day's  celebration. 

The  wounded  squatter,  with  scalp  well  patched 
and  head  freshly  bandaged,  rose  unsteadily  to  de 
part.  Miller  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  man  was  unfit 
to  ride  to  his  own  home,  and  sent  his  companions 
away  without  him. 


AND  NONE  WOULD  DESPISE  ME      305 

"Stay  around  a  day  or  two;  wait  till  your  pins 
stiffen  a  bit,"  was  the  ranchero's  invitation.  He  was 
at  last  learning  these  men,  was  finding  out  how  far 
he  could  tax  their  gratitude. 

The  newcomer  weakly  protested.  His  intuitions 
told  him  that  he  was  an  intruder,  that  to  stay  would 
be  to  accept  a  kindness  made  necessary  by  his  own 
stupidity.  Yet  he  was  sorely  wounded,  and  the  com 
fort,  the  hospitality,  roused  a  longing  for  one  night's 
rest  in  this  stronghold  of  helpfulness,  and  he  yielded. 

They  fetched  a  cot,  and  laid  him,  clean  and  peace 
ful,  in  the  dark.  The  last  he  remembered  was  voices 
of  women  sounding,  far  away,  a  low,  sweet  lullaby, 
maternal,  soothing.  He  was  again  a  child,  simple, 
unspoiled,  without  care  or  sorrow. 

"I  suppose  you'll  arrest  the  man  who  did  the 
shooting,  Mr.  Bailey?"  asked  Mrs.  Payne,  after  the 
family  had  gathered  again.  She  concluded  that  an 
example  must  be  set. 

The  sheriff  answered  easily  that  he  felt  no  call  to 
arrest  any  one. 

"No  call !    And  a  man  wounded  almost  to  death !" 

Bailey  explained  that  the  law  considered  the  com- 


306  CASA  GRANDE 

munity  as  well  as  the  individual,  and  in  this  case  the 
community  would  profit,  because  Scott  would  have  to 
get  out. 

"Scott  get  out !"  This  time  it  was  Belle  whose  in 
dignation  was  roused.  "You  couldn't  drag  him  out 
with  a  saddle-horse." 

"We'll  see,"  confidently  replied  Bailey.  "When 
he  winged  that  man  for  protecting  his  wife  he  played 
his  last  card;  she'll  throw  him  out.  I  know  these 
people." 

The  note  of  assurance  in  the  sheriff's  speech  irri 
tated  Belle,  who  gave  vent  to  her  mood  by  a  quick 
retort :  "Oh,  yes,  Sam  Bailey ;  you  know  so  much !" 

He  backed  up  to  the  fireplace  and  spread  his  hands 
to  the  warmth.  "I  can  prove  that  I'm  right,"  he 
banteringly  affirmed.  "Our  wounded  friend  was 
quite  mild  while  you  were  patching  him  up;  but 
when  he  gets  well,  if  Scott  even  winks  at  him  there 
'11  be  a  funeral  in  Dry  Creek.  No  man  as  big  a  cow 
ard  as  Scott  can  long  stand  to  be  terrorised  that  way, 
and  he'll  get  out.  Am  I  right?" 

"You're  always  right,"  said  Belle,  but  her  manner 
did  not  carry  the  approval  of  her  words. 


AND  NONE  WOULD  DESPISE  ME      307 

Bailey  laughed,  and  picked  up  his  hat.  His  visit 
was  disappointing,  for  he  had  been  all  day  under 
restraint.  Something  had  changed  in  the  old  house, 
in  Belle,  and  he  laid  it  to  Mrs.  Payne's  door.  He 
was  disposed  to  resent  as  an  intrusion  the  coming 
of  this  latest  guest,  and  the  more  he  studied  her  the 
more  certain  he  felt  that  she  was  planning  to  win 
Belle  to  Miller.  No  doubt,  Miller  was  conscious 
of  the  scheme,  and  a  new  emotion  stirred  Bailey.  If 
they  proposed  to  cut  him  out  of  his  rightful  place 
with  the  girl,  he,  too,  could  play  at  that  game,  and 
for  the  first  time  he  began  to  plot  against  his  host. 
"Good-bye,"  he  blandly  said  to  Belle,  as  he  turned 
toward  the  door ;  "I'd  better  go  before  you  row  with 
me.  Good-bye,  all." 

It  was  long  after  dark  when  the  family  quieted 
down  from  the  excitements  of  the  day.  The  va- 
queros  were  smoking  and  chatting  in  the  dining- 
room,  where  Manuel  was  finishing  with  his 
dishes;  the  others  were  in  Belle's  room.  A  dog 
roused  from  between  the  men's  feet  and  gave 
a  short,  muffled  bark.  Another  and  another  be 
came  alert,  then  all  charged  for  the  court- 


308  CASA  GRANDE 

yard;  the  men  sprang  after,  calling  them  in  threat 
ening  tones. 

Miller  and  the  doctor  came  into  the  dining-room 
as  the  vaqueros  re-entered,  escorting  a  woman  of 
middle  age,  shrunken  and  bony  from  overwork.  Her 
garments  were  poor,  almost  mean,  and  her  face  thin 
and  sad ;  yet  her  eyes  were  intelligent  and  resolute. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Scott,"  she  simply  said. 

Belle  heard  the  voice  and  ran  out,  took  the  wasted 
figure  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her.  The  older  woman 
clung  a  moment  to  the  girl,  as  if  for  protection,  then 
gently  pushed  her  back.  The  frontier  may  go  in 
sane  if  the  fiercer  emotions  be  roused ;  but  if  the  ten 
der,  it  is  at  once  ashamed. 

When  they  had  seated  this  visitor  before  the  fire 
in  Belle's  room,  the  friendliness  of  the  genial  group 
slowly  relaxed  the  tension  of  her  months  of  repres 
sion,  and  she  found  relief  in  talking.  They  listened 
interestedly  till  she  had  freed  her  mind  of  resentment 
and  bitterness. 

She  had  left  her  husband  in  bed  to  sleep  himself 
sober ;  her  two  children  she  had  housed  for  the  night 
with  neighbours;  then  she  had  felt  free  to  follow 


AND  NONE  WOULD  DESPISE  ME      309 

her  instinct — that  was  for  refuge.  At  Casa  Grande 
were  Belle,  always  resolute  and  helpful,  and  Mil 
ler,  the  embodiment  of  kindness,  notwithstanding 
past  feuds.  Comfort,  peace,  sympathy,  all  attracted 
her  to  the  big  house.  This  was  the  first  time  she  had 
stepped  inside  these  walls,  and  the  reality  was  even 
more  than  she  had  pictured. 

Her  life  had  been  steep  and  rough;  here  was  a 
resting-place  where  she  might  renew  courage  and 
gather  strength  and  resolution,  if  only  for  a  night. 
Just  now,  she  could  think  of  but  one  purpose — to 
get  rid  of  her  husband.  Like  a  mastering  passion, 
it  quivered  from  every  cell  in  her  being.  Yet  how 
should  she?  She  asked  them  the  question  humbly 
as  a  child,  almost  helplessly. 

The  others  looked  to  Miller  for  answer,  and,  for 
once,  the  master  of  Casa  Grande  was  not  ready.  To 
gain  time,  he  would  have  the  woman  stay  with  them 
for  the  night;  there  was  a  couch  where  she  could 
sleep  secure  among  friends.  He  would  have  her 
wait  a  little;  she  must  be  worn  with  the  mental 
struggle  she  had  been  through.  A  change  of  thought, 
a  change  of  circumstance,  and  the  world  would  be 


310  CASA  GRANDE 

fairer  again.  Above  all,  she  must  decide  her  own 
actions;  it  would  be  wiser  to  do  nothing  until  she 
was  certain  of  her  convictions. 

Mrs.  Payne  was*;not  satisfied.  "You  must  remem 
ber,  John,  that  Mrs.  Scott  is  a  woman.  She  needs 
advice." 

Miller  good-naturedly  shook  his  head.  "If  she 
needs  advice  or  approval,  she  would  better  remain 
as  she  has  been." 

"You  are  cruel!" 

"Each  is  his  own  world,"  he  gently  replied.  "No 
one  can  say  what  another  should  do — unless  one 
knows  every  quivering  emotion  of  the  other." 

"But,  John,  those  who  have  been  in  the  world, 
who  have  seen  life,  know  what's  right,  what's 
wrong,  better  than  those  who  haven't." 

He  smiled  kindly  at  his  impulsive  guest  and  her 
throbbing  sympathy.  "Yes;  for  themselves.  After 
all,  the  limit  of  worldly  knowledge  is  to  know  what 
is  right,  each  for  himself." 

"Would  you  have  this  woman  wear  out  her  life 
for  that  brute?" 

"Oh,  no,   knight-errantess !     I'd  have  her  wait 


AND  NONE  WOULD  DESPISE  ME      311 

until  she  will  submit  no  longer;  then  her  own  reso 
lution  will  point  the  way." 

"That  means  you  won't  help  her?"  said  Mrs- 
Payne,  disappointment  evident  in  face  and  voice. 

"If  she  needs  money,  land,  a  horse,  a  cow,  I  might 
be  persuaded.  But  advice — I'm  not  sure,  myself,  so 
I'll  keep  that  without  price." 

"Only  a  word,  John." 

"If  she  needs  my  word,  she  lacks  conviction."  He 
glanced  compassionately  at  the  careworn  woman. 
"We  do  many  things  from  impulse — usually  to  re 
gret  them.  Conviction  alone  gives  courage." 

"You're  generally  right,  John."  Mrs.  Payne 
looked  humbly  at  him,  and  rose  from  her  chair. 
"Are  you  disappointed,  Mrs.  Scott?" 

An  answer  was  not  immediately  given.  The 
woman's  face  was  toward  the  fire,  her  sunken/ eyes 
turned  to  the  glowing  coals  as  if  studying  destiny: 
When  she  looked  up  her  mouth  was  resolute.  "No ; 
not  exactly.  I'm  sure  I'll  never  live  with  him 
again." 

Miller  rose,  also.  "Your  convictions  will  give  you 
courage  to  enforce  them,"  he  hopefully  affirmed. 


3i2  CASA  GRANDE 

"A  good  mgnt's  rest  will  be  more  to  you  than  ad 


vice." 


Mrs.  Payne  lingered  to  help  with  the  couch  and 
do  what  she  could  for  the  comfort  of  the  other 
women.  When  she  came  softly  into  the  unlighted 
dining-room,  Miller  was  alone  by  the  fireside,  the 
dogs  stretched  comfortably  about  him.  The  logs 
had  burned  to  a  bed  of  coals,  and  the  ruddy  glow 
showed  his.  well-knit  figure*  like  burnished  copper. 
His  attitude  suggested  weariness,  not  so  much  physi 
cal  as  spiritual.  The  man  of  large  sympathy,  ever 
ready  to  give  unstintingly  of  it,  found  his  soul  nearly 
drained.  All  were  taking  from  him,  none  repaying, 
and  the  thought  sometimes  made  him  desolate. 
When  he  looked  up,  there  was  a  wistfulness  in  the 
strong  face  that  made  her  yearn  over  the  solitary 
man,  for  she  felt  his  loneliness. 

He  set;  a  chair  for  her  near  the  fire. 

"No,  John ;  it's  late.  But  I  have  news  for  you. 
It  appears  that  Belle  has  another  brother,  Tom." 

"Yes.    He  disappeared  just  after  the  big  fire." 

"He  went  to  Santa  Barbara,"  she  continued,  "on 
a  cattle  range,  where  he  still  is.  Belle  must  have 


AND  NONE  WOULD  DESPISE  ME      313 

suspected  him  of  taking  part  in  the  firing  of  your 
barn,  for  he  was  there  that  night — and  she  was  shot 
for  it,  poor  girl !  He  didn't,  however.  Mrs.  Scott 
gave  no  names,  but  it's  not  difficult  to  guess,  now, 
who  did  the  mischief,  and  Belle  and  her  mother  were 
greatly  relieved  to  hear  of  Tom's  innocence." 

Miller  sat  thinking  of  the  night  the  girl  was 
wounded,  and  many  things  became  clear,  each  new 
disclosure  adding  to  the  patient's  credit.  "A  case 
of  self-sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  friendship,  eh?"  he 
remarked.  'The  boy  wouldn't  betray  the  guilty  man, 
for  the  sake  of  the  man's  family.  Belle  or  Wash 
might  easily  have  done  such  a  thing,  but  Tom — I 
didn't  suspect  it.  Runs  in  the  family.  Good  stuff, 
that,  Mabel." 

But  Mrs.  Payne  had  also  fallen  to  dreaming. 
Presently  she  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "To 
think,"  she  said,  "that  girl  might  some  day  become 
like  that  woman !" 

He  understood,  although  the  process  of  reasoning 
by  which  she  arrived  at  her  conclusion  had  not  been 
explained.  He  said,  however,  that  he  did  not  wholly 
agree  with  his  guest ;  the  girl  had  a  different  temper. 


314  CASA  GRANDE 

"Yes,"  admitted  Mrs.  Payne;  "shes  courageous 
and  sympathetic,  and  when  I  saw  her  with  Mr. 
Bailey  to-day  I  was  impressed  by  her  superiority 
to  her  own  class.  And,  John" — there  was  an  ex 
pression  of  intense  satisfaction  on  the  speaker's  face 
— "you  should  have  seen  her  turn  him  down.  I've 
been  chuckling  to  myself  ever  since.  She'll  learn 
fast" 

He  affably  reminded  her  of  his  having  said  that 
Belle  was  putting  her  to  the  test.  He  thought  the 
girl  had  a  good  model. 

"Oh,  dear !"  exclaimed  the  model,  "I  don't  know 
whether  I'm  good  or  bad.  I  thought  I  knew  just 
what  to  do  when  I  arrived.  Now,  I'm  quite  at  a 
loss." 

"Why,  Mabel,"  he  said,  rising,  "you  astonish 
me!" 

"I  don't  care,  John  Miller;  you've  been  laughing 
at  me  ever  since  I  came  here." 

"Laughing  at  you !— I  ?" 

"Yes,  you  have.  You've  been  laughing  in  your 
sleeve."  The  mention  of  laughter  recalled  Bailey 
again,  and  she  took  a  new  turn.  "I  thought  I  had 


AND  NONE  WOULD  DESPISE  ME       315 

found  just  the  man  for  Belle  when  I  met  Mr.  Bailey, 
but  I  believe  I  don't  like  him." 

"Go  to  bed,  little  schemer.  Leave  something  for 
another  day."  He  lighted  a  candle  for  her. 

"Good-night,  John.  Do  you  think  you  could  be 
satisfied  with  her  love?"  The  look  she  gave  him 
was  sweet  and  wistful. 

For  answer,  he  pressed  to  his  lips  the  soft,  cool 
hand  he  held  in  his,  and  kindly  said,  "Good-night." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
IF  A  MAN  WOULD  GIVE  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

THE  day  after  New  Year's,  Dr.  Payne  found  on 
the  breakfast-table  a  summons  that  brought 
to  an  end  his  visit  at  Casa  Grande.  He  read  aloud 
that  much  of  the  letter,  and  all  fell  to  discussing 
plans  for  the  parting.  It  was  decided  that  Miller 
should  drive  the  surgeon  and  his  wife,  in  the  after 
noon,  to  Sonoma,  where  they  might  remain  over 
night,  and  not  have  to  rise  before  daylight  next 
morning,  to  be  on  hand  for  the  early  departure  of 
the  steamer  to  San  Francisco. 

Belle  had  listened  to  the  doctor's  announcement 
with  no  outward  sign  of  distress ;  but  her  heart  was 
labouring,  and  her  breath  came  as  if  a  band  were 
tightening  about  her  chest.  The  hour  she  had 
dreaded  was  here,  and  she  must  at  last  say  good-bye. 

What  the  parting  meant  suddenly  flashed  upon  her, 
316 


ALL  FOR  LOVE  317 

and  she  knew  how  she  had  grown  to  depend  on  the 
master  of  Aguas  Frias. 

When  she  felt  her  voice  steady,  she  quietly  said 
that  they,  too,  would  leave  at  the  same  time.  The 
announcement  fetched  a  lull  in  the  conversation,  the 
silence  more  eloquent  of  regret  than  any  words 
could  be. 

"Do  you  think  it  safe,  Ned?"  asked  Miller. 

The  doctor  did  not  look  at  Belle,  but  he  caught 
her  troubled  expression,  and  guessed  the  motive  that 
prompted  her  to  leave  so  soon.  "She  has  improved 
fast,"  he  answered,  "and  if  she  will  remember  to  be 
careful " 

Miller  urged  no  further  objections.  He  could 
not  very  well  obtrude  his  own  regrets,  and  he 
was  too  absorbed  by  them  to  divine  the  girl's 
motive;  so  he  acquiesced  with  evident  disap 
pointment. 

"How  soon,  John,"  asked  the  doctor,  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  "do  you  consider  it  will  be  safe?" 

"About  a  year,"  was  the  indolent  answer. 

"Why  not  a  hundred?" 

"Very  well,  then— a  hundred." 


3i8  CASA  GRANDE 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  the  doctor,  solemnly  rising, 
"I  suggest  that  you  consult  the  patient." 

But  when  the  doctor  got  up,  the  patient  left  and 
went  into  the  living-room,  her  mother  and  Miller 
following  her. 

The  surgeon  proposed  to  his  wife,  as  soon  as  they 
were  alone,  that  she  stay  a  week  or  two  longer,  and 
perhaps  Belle  would  remain  with  her. 

"Are  you  tired  of  me,  Ned  ?"  she  asked. 

His  manner  expressed  surprise,  and  at  the  same 
time  embarrassment.  He  must  answer  something, 
however,  for  she  waited  expectantly.  "I  supposed, 
all  along,  it  was  the  other  way,  Mabel." 

She  went  quickly  to  him  and  caught  his  arm  with 
both  her  hands.  "Oh,  Ned,  there's  nothing  in  this 
world  worth  while  but  you !" 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  smoothed  the  hair  from 
her  brow.  Streakings  of  silver  were  coming  in  the 
gold,  and  her  eyes  shone  with  unaccustomed  plead 
ing,  but  her  lips  curved  invitingly.  "Did  you  have 
to  come  to  Casa  Grande  to  discover  that  ?" 

"I've  discovered  many  things  at  Casa  Grande, 
dear.  Kiss  me." 


ALL  FOR  LOVE  319 

Husband  and  wife,  his  arm  about  her,  passed  out 
the  front  door  and  along  the  road  to  the  feeding- 
sheds.  Belle  stood  at  a  window  and  watched  them. 
She  never  before  had  seen  him  caress  his  wife,  and 
the  spirit  of  romance,  ever  alert  in  the  girl,  weaved 
pictures  of  the  impulses  that  had  caused  this  sudden 
change.  Love,  then,  is  a  fountain,  to  run  dry  if  not 
replenished  by  love,  and  yet  never  so  dry  as  not  to 
flow  again  if  abundantly  fed. 

The  girl's  thoughts  wandered  from  the  doctor  and 
his  wife  to  Miller.  Why  had  the  professional  man 
suggested  that  his  host  question  the  patient  as  to 
the  time  of  her  leaving?  Had  all  of  them  observed 
her  growing  affection  for  the  ranchero?  She  pressed 
both  hands  to  her  heart  to  still  its  throbbing,  for  her 
dreams  were  taking  the  forms  of  realities,  and  she 
stood  in  the  first  sunburst  of  the  discovery.  It  must 
not  be.  She  had  not  yet  forgiven  the  wrongs  he 
had  done,  and  even  if  she  could  forgive,  she  could 
not  satisfy  him ;  she  was  not  worthy  of  him. 

Her  purpose  had  been  formed  in  the  spirit  of  self- 
sacrifice  that  proved  the  deep  abnegation  of  her  love. 
She,  like  all  ardent  souls,  was  forgetting  her  own 


320  CASA  GRANDE 

longing  in  the  divine  passion  he  had  wakened,  and 
which  at  last  she  was  conscious  of. 

She  resolved,  therefore,  to  leave  Casa  Grande  be 
fore  he  had  found  out  her  love  for  him.  She  would 
steal  away  while  he  was  gone,  run  off  and  hide  in 
some  quiet  place,  and  die — anything  to  escape  telling 
him  good-bye,  letting  him  see  the  emotion  that  was 
unnerving  her.  She  went  back  to  her  deserted  cham 
ber,  flung  herself  beside  the  bed,  and  asked  for 
strength  to  carry  out  the  plan  now  submerging  her 
in  a  flood  of  tears  that  would  not  break. 

Mrs.  Payne,  the  joy  of  loving  deeply  stirring  her 
again,  found  the  girl  packing  with  feverish  eager 
ness.  She  walked  to  the  bureau  and  covertly  ob 
served  Belle,  but  did  not  speak  for  some  time.  She 
at  last  discovered  the  reason  for  this  disorderly 
gathering  up  of  the  family  belongings,  and  softly 
asked : 

"Packing,  Belle  ?" 

The  girl  only  nodded  in  answer. 

"I  thought  you'd  help  me — our  time  is  short." 

Belle  neither  paused  nor  looked  up. 

"Must  you  leave  when  we  go  ?" 


ALL  FOR  LOVE  321 

"Yes."  Belle  kept  her  face  away  from  the  ques 
tioner. 

"You  needn't.  You'll  have  the  house  to  your 
selves  to-night,  and  can  take  your  own  time.  Then 
in  the  morning  you  will  start  refreshed." 

Belle  silently  persevered. 

Mrs.  Payne  went  to  the  kneeling  figure  and  laid 
a  hand  on  her.  The  touch  was  a  caress,  and  Belle 
looked  up,  at  last — rose  and  clasped  the  fingers  lying 
on  her  shoulder. 

"It's  time,  Mrs.  Payne.  We've  stayed  too  long, 
and  Mr.  Miller  has  been  so  kind." 

"But  a  day  or  two  more  will  make  no  difference." 

"We  must  go,  Mrs.  Payne — now." 

"Have  you  told  John?" 

"I  can't  tell  him!  We'll  be  gone  when  he  gets 
back.  Please  don't  stop  me."  Belle  had  spoken  fast, 
and  was  shaking. 

Mrs.  Payne  drew  the  quivering  figure  to  her  and 
held  the  girl  close — two  women,  each  beloved. 
Belle's  breath  came  distressfully,  and  she  leaned  to 
the  older  woman,  who  gently  asked  if  she  realised 
how  deeply  her  stealing  away  would  pain  Mr.  Miller. 


322  CASA  GRANDE 

Belle's  only  answer  was  to  cling  the  tighter. 

"John  has  been  proud  of  your  courage,  dear." 

"I  can't  tell  him  good-bye,  Mrs.  Payne — I  can't ! 

He  sees  so  much,  he'll  know — he'll  be  sure You 

tell,  when  you  leave  him  to-morrow  morning." 

Mrs.  Payne  softly  laughed.  "You  foolish  child! 
He  would  ride  straight  to  your  house,  if  I  did." 

"But  I'm  not  worthy." 

The  older  woman's  face  rested  caressingly  on  the 
girl's  flushed  cheek,  and  her  head  shook  disapprov 
ingly,  for  the  memory  of  her  husband's  arm  about 
her  waist  still  lingered. 

"But  you  think  so.    You  tried  to  show  me " 

"Never  mind,  now,  dear.  I  shouldn't  have  inter 
fered.  It's  best " 

"But  you  were  right !    I  know  it." 

Mrs.  Payne  realised  that  Belle  was  under  the  sway 
of  her  emotions,  and  argument  would  be  useless. 
She  held  the  girl  close  a  little  longer,  and  when  she 
spoke  again  it  was  to  ask  help  in  packing. 

As  the  day  wore  along,  the  bustle  and  excitement 
of  departure  caused  the  convalescent  to  forget  her 
own  distress ;  and  after  the  city  guests  drove  away, 


ALL  FOR  LOVE  323 

the  Clarks  decided  that  it  was  too  late  to  leave  that 
night. 

When  the  master  of  Casa  Grande  returned  next 
day  he  found  his  other  guests  ready  to  depart.  It 
was  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  and  Wash  had  his 
wagon  in  the  courtyard,  nearly  loaded  with  the 
family  belongings  that,  little  by  little,  had  been  trans 
ferred  from  their  cabin  during  the  months  of  the 
wounded  girl's  stay.  Mrs.  Clark  rode  on  the  wagon, 
and  Buck,  saddled  and  bridled,  stood  ready  for  his 
mistress. 

The  old  lady  was  sincerely  grateful  for  many 
kindnesses  in  the  big  house,  where,  with  all  her  care 
and  worry,  she  had  never  known  a  more  restful 
time.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  her  regret  at 
leaving,  yet  it  was  equally  plain  that  she  would  re 
joice  to  be  again  in  her  own  home.  She  had  done 
her  duty  steadfastly.  If  sometimes  she  had  fal 
tered  at  the  irksome  confinement  of  the  sick-room, 
nevertheless  Miller  recognised  as  hers  many  traits 
that  bloomed  more  vigorously  in  her  daughter. 

Belle .  had  given  the  last  touch  to  the  load  and 
was  watching  it  drive  away.  She  was  calm  and 


324  CASA  GRANDE 

self-contained  this  morning,  yet  a  different  girl 
from  the  Belle  who  had  been  wounded  the  night  of 
the  fire,  and  her  dress  to-day  expressed  the  change. 
Mrs.  Payne,  after  all,  had  failed  to  make  her  more 
conventional;  the  personality  was  too  pronounced 
for  that.  What  had  been  done,  however,  was  to 
emphasise  her  individualities,  to  strengthen  the  ad 
mirable  traits  and  make  them  more  noticeable. 

Miller  approvingly  scanned  her  trim  figure  as  she 
stood  ready  to  mount,  and,  to  his  surprise,  when  he 
offered  to  help  her,  she  put  up  her  foot  and  permitted 
him  to  lift  her  to  the  saddle.  She  had  on  the  accus 
tomed  grey  sombrero,  but  a  crimson  kerchief  wound 
about  the  crown  gave  the  touch  that  made  it  femi 
nine.  She  still  wore  a  navy-blue  riding  shirt,  but 
tied  carelessly  about  her  perfect  throat  was  a  scarf 
the  colour  of  her  hatband.  She  had  on  the  same 
full  buckskin  trousers,  but  from  the  knees  down 
they  were  hidden  by  a  glossy  pair  of  top-boots, 
and  about  her  waist  was  a  crimson  sash,  the 
tasselled  ends  falling  over  her  hip.  She  revelled 
in  warm  colours,  and  yet  they  appeared  not  inap 
propriate. 


ALL  FOR  LOVE  325 

Under  the  man's  steadfast  gaze,  the  tint  deepened 
in  her  cheeks  and  a  light  glowed  in  her  eyes.  She 
sat  lightly  erect  in  her  saddle,  her  body  swaying 
gracefully  to  every  motion  of  the  horse.  The  time 
for  parting  had  come,  and  with  it  a  strange  embar 
rassment  rose  between  them.  With  downcast  eyes 
and  painfully  throbbing  hearts,  they  stood  in  the 
shadow  of  a  nameless  longing. 

The  girl's  mount  was  impatient  to  follow  the  con 
veyance  drawn  by  two  of  his  fellows,  that  had  dis 
appeared  through  the  gate;  and,  though  she  reined 
him  firmly,  he  would  not  stand.  Miller  took  him  by 
the  bit  and  held  him  quiet.  The  action  broke  the 
constraint. 

"Wait,  Buck."  He  spoke  soothingly,  and  rubbed 
the  animal's  nose.  "I'm  not  near  so  anxious  to  see 
you  leave  as  you  are  to  go.  I  haven't  said  good-bye 
yet  to  your  mistress." 

"Say  it  now,  before  Buck  feels  lost."  She  spoke 
very  low,  with  a  faint  attempt  to  smile,  and  laid  an 
ungloved  hand  in  his. 

It  was  a  shapely  hand,  in  spite  of  the  toil  it  had 
done — a  white  hand,  now,  after  long  idleness — and 


CASA  GRANDE 

his  fingers  closed  with  a  grip  of  ownership  over  the 
softness  of  it. 

"I  suppose  the  word  must  be  said/'  he  regretfully 
replied,  and  walked  beside  her  through  the  gate. 
She  tried  feebly  to  withdraw  her  fingers,  but  he 
clung  only  the  tighter.  "It  has  been  blessedness  to 
have  you  here,"  he  continued;  "even  the  agony  has 
been  blessed." 

She  leaned  lightly  to  him  and  gazed  into  his  clear, 
brown  eyes.  Her  lips  were  drawn  to  hide  their 
quiver  and  her  breath  was  short.  Words  came  at 
last.  "I  wish  I  could  thank  you,  Mr.  Miller,  for  all 
you  have  done,  but  I — can't."  Her  voice  failed,  and 
she  turned  away  her  face,  her  hand  still  clasped  by 
his. 

"Don't  try,  Belle."  He  reassuringly  pressed  her 
fingers.  "I  know  without  telling." 

"You  can't  know.  It  isn't  the  comforts,  the  nurs 
ing,  the  doctoring.  It's  the  brightness  and  sweet 
ness  of  living;  something  besides  forever  working- 
and  saving."  A  new  motive,  like  a  guiding  star, 
was  climbing  above  her  horizon,  and  she  must  point 
it  out. 


ALL  FOR  LOVE  327 

"I'm  very  glad  you  found  them  all.  Everything 
here  seemed  hard  and  rough,  and  I've  regretted  that 
I  could  do  no  more." 

There  was  the  caressing  note  in  his  voice  that  had 
thrilled  her  the  night  he  learned  she  did  not  set  fire 
to  the  barn;  it  was  thrilling  her  now.  She  drew 
away  from  him,  tearing  her  fingers  from  his  clasp 
lest  he  should  feel  their  trembling.  What  was  this 
exquisite  terror  that  gripped  her  to  suffocation  ?  She 
turned  to  him  again,  and  something  in  his  bearing, 
a  mixture  of  supplication  and  command,  forced  her 
to  him,  and  she  felt  a  wild  impulse  to  fling 
herself  into  his  arms.  A  swift  movement  caused 
Buck  to  spring  away  homeward;  when  she 
brought  him  back,  she  was  calm  again.  But 
she  must  end  the  interview  before  she  betrayed 
herself. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said.  "Don't  come  any  farther." 
He  had  walked  with  her  halfway  up  the  hill.  "I 
never  can  forget  you.  If  you  think  the  life  here 
hard  and  rough,  it  is  luxury  compared  to  ours.  If 
my  father  had  been  like  your  father,  I  might  be  like 
you."  She  gravely  studied  him,  then  dropped  a 


328  CASA  GRANDE 

hand  on  his  shoulder,  unconscious  of  familiarity.   "I 
want  to  be  like  you — like  Mrs.  Payne." 

He  reached  up  and  clasped  her  hand ;  but  she,  re 
membering  her  resolution,  drew  away. 

"That's  why  I  want  a  home,"  she  continued. 
"That's  why  it  has  been  so  hard  to  forgive  you  for 
taking  ours.  But  I " 

"Belle!"  he  protested.    "Haven't  I ?" 

"I  must  hurt  you.  I'll  not  do  so  again.  I've 
wanted  many  times  to  tell  you ;  let  me  go  on.  I 
have  forgiven,  but  it  took  all  these  months!  Our 
land  must  have  been  such  a  little  thing  to  you;  it 
was  our  world — eight  years  of  our  lives !" 

"But  remember,"  he  said,  again  reaching  for  her 
hand,  "you  scarcely  had  spoken  to  me  then." 

She  had  forgotten  that.  It  suddenly  came  to  her 
what  a  difference  the  intimacy  of  the  past  four 
months  had  made;  she  realised  her  power  to  make 
him  suffer,  and  it  gave  joy  rather  than  pain.  She 
leaned  tenderly  to  him  and  said  : 

"You  thought  you  were  right:  I  know  it  now. 
I'm  sorry  if  I.  have  hurt.  I've  suffered,  too;  even 
death — the  night  I  was  wounded,  and  the  time  I 


ALL  FOR  LOVE  329 

was  paralysed.  But  you've  been  sweet  and  patient 
and  helpful;  Mrs.  Payne  herself  was  not  so  gentle; 
and  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Miller,  I  thank  you  for  show 
ing  me  how  strong  and  tender  a  good  man  can  be; 
I  forgive  all."  Once  more  she  offered  him  her 
hand. 

He  held  to  her  fingers  while  he  earnestly  studied 
her  shining  face.  "You've  left  out  one  word,  Belle 
— loving;  strong  and  tender  and  loving.  Haven't 
you  seen  that,  too,  dear  ?" 

"No,  no!"  she  gasped,  trying  to  free  her  hand. 
"You  mustn't!  Please  let  me  go." 

"Why?"  He  spoke  gently,  but  there  was  a  note 
of  command  in  his  tone. 

"Please  let  me  go,"  she  repeated.  "No,  John, 
don't  take  me  in  your  arms ;  I'm  very  weak.  If  you 
knew  how  I've  fought  against  this — I'm  not 
worthy !" 

"There,  there,"  he  soothingly  said,  and  stepped 
back.  "I  didn't  know  it  would  be  such  a  terrible 
thing — loving  me,  sweetheart.  I  hoped  it  would 
bring  you  joy  and  peace." 

"No,  no;  I  mustn't!" 


330  CASA  GRANDE 

"But  you  do."  He  was  smiling  and  confident 
again.  "I  can  read  it  in  your  tell-tale  eyes." 

She  quickly  turned  away  her  face  and  gathered 
her  reins.  Her  body  swayed  as  if  she  might  fall, 
and  he  apprehensively  put  up  his  hands  again  to 
catch  her. 

"Don't  touch  me,"  she  protested,  resolutely 
vStraightening  in  her  saddle;  but  she  brushed  her 
hand  across  her  eyes  with  the  gesture  of  one  that 
does  not  see  clearly. 

"Now  go,  dear,"  he  said,  with  a  pang  of  remorse. 
"I'll  come  to-morrow.  '  I  should  have  waited — after 
all  the  harm  I've  done  you." 

"What  harm?"     She  was  brightening  again. 

"Something  that  has  lain  heavily  on  my  mind 
ever  since  the  fire."  He  looked  on  the  ground,  his 
sombrero  hiding  his  face. 

"Well?"  she  lightly  asked,  and  tried  to  raise  his 
hat-brim. 

"I  shot  you."    He  almost  whispered  the  words. 

She  freed  her  hand,  laid  it  on  his  shoulder,  and, 
with  a  smile  in  her  glance,  answered :  "I  don't  be 
lieve  you," 


ALL  FOR  LOVE  331 

His  face  remained  averted  and  hidden. 

"How  do  you  know?"  she  quietly  demanded. 

"The  bullet — it's  too  small  for  any  other  re 
volver."  As  he  answered,  he  felt  the  hand  resting 
on  him  tremble,  then  withdraw.  Still  he  would  not 
look  at  her. 

She  settled  herself  in  the  saddle,  her  heart  bound 
ing  at  the  sudden  revelation  of  how.  profound  was 
his  love.  There  could  no  longer  be  a  doubt  of  his 
sincerity;  the  acuteness  of  his  suffering  for  wound 
ing  her  laid  bare  his  long-restrained  emotions.  But 
a  latent  feminine  perversity ;  the  realisation  of  what 
he  was  offering  her;  Mrs.  Payne's  warning — all 
combined  to  arouse  the  coquetry  never  yet  allowed 
full  swing,  which  for  months  had  been  held  down 
by  a  sense  of  wrong,  of  inequality,  of  inopportunity ; 
and  the  desire  to  tease  her  lover,  to  make  him  pursue 
her,  rose  above  all  other  impulses.  She  wheeled  her 
mount,  which  broke  away  at  a  gallop;  as  she  rode 
off,  Miller  glanced  up,  and  never  before  had  she 
known  how  swiftly  a  face  can  go  haggard.  She 
pulled  hard  on  the  lines,  her  quick  sympathy  impel 
ling  her  to  assure  him  that  he  misunderstood;  but 


332  CASA  GRANDE 

the  eager  horse  could  not  be  held  back  by  ordinary 
force,  and  she  gave  him  his  head.  The  pang  her 
lover's  suffering  had  caused  was  quickly  forgotten 
in  a  new-found  happiness  and  the  conviction  that  he 
would  follow  her. 

Miller  vaguely  gazed  after  Belle  speeding  over 
the  hill,  and  disappearing  without  turning  back,  and 
he  wondered  how  she  could  be  so  cruel.  That  she 
acted  from  intention  he  could  not  believe;  yet  he 
did  not  know  what  else  her  going  implied.  The 
elemental  impulse  of  her  sex  to  be  pursued  in  love, 
particularly  dominant  in  the  half-wild  girl,  was  yet 
a  mystery  to  him,  and  he  must  suffer  for  his  dense- 
ness.  He  stood  for  a  while  baffled  by  his  emotions, 
then  went  unsteadily  down  the  rise. 

Across  the  afternoon  sky  a  rain-cloud  was  fling 
ing  black  shadows,  and  the  freshening  wind  whistled 
in  short  gusts. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
TELL  ME 

SOON  after  the  breaking  up  at  Casa  Grande, 
Bailey  met  Wash  in  Santa  Rosa  and  learned 
that  Belle  was  miserable.  Her  brother  did  not  know 
the  trouble,  but  the  symptoms  most  clearly  impressed 
on  him  were  sleeplessness,  indifference  to  meals,  and 
long  stretches  of  silence  and  solitary  wandering; 
the  family  was  greatly  worried  lest  she  should  be  ill 
again. 

On  Sunday  following,  the  sheriff  went  to  Casa 
Grande.  He  had  brooded  over  Belle's  condition,  and 
had  decided  that  Miller  was  responsible  for  her  un- 
happiness.  The  only  conclusion  he  could  accept  was 
that  the  master  of  Aguas  Frias  had  won  the  girl's 
love  and  had  failed  to  respond.  Of  course,  it  was 
unintentional;  and  yet,  during  her  convalescence, 
Miller  must  have  been  somewhat  diverted  by  her 

growing  affection,  and,  when  he  found  that  it  might 

333 


334  CASA  GRANDE 

be  his  for  the  taking,  had  tired  of  it,  and  cast  it  from 
his  regard  as  he  would  any  novel  sensation  after  it 
no  longer  amused  him. 

Miller  should  be  admonished  for  his  treatment  of 
Belle,  should  have  his  attention  called  to  the  suffer 
ing  he  was  causing  her.  The  master  of  the  range 
was  too  generous  to  persist  in  any  action  that 
wounded  another,  and  a  word  would  be  sufficient 
to  end  his  attentions — would  probably  induce  him 
to  avoid  her  in  future.  No  one  was  better  qualified 
for  this  duty  than  the  sheriff,  who  had  set  out 
eagerly  and  without  resentment,  although  not  quite 
conscious  of  the  self-interest  underlying  his  other 
motives.  As  he  rode  into  the  courtyard,  the  va- 
queros  were  leaving,  and  Miller  was  comfortably 
stretched  in  the  shade,  reading. 

"Put  up  your  horse,  Bailey,"  was  the  ranchero's 
cordial  greeting. 

"No;  I  shan't  stay  long,"  the  rider  answered,  as 
he  dismounted  and  walked  over  to  Miller. 

"Nothing  wrong,  I  trust,"  genially  remarked  the 
host. 

Bailey    replied    that    nothing    was    intentionally 


TELL  ME  335 

wrong;  yet  he  would  like  to  talk  about  Belle  and 
her  condition.  The  visitor  showed  no  embarrass 
ment  in  thus  broaching  the  object  of  his  call. 

"Sit  down/'  said  Miller,  making  room  beside  him 
self  on  the  settee.  "You've  come  to  the  right  place, 
old  man.  Fire  away." 

The  ranchero's  manner  expressed  no  suspicion 
of  his  guest's  purpose,  and  the  sheriff  felt  cordiality 
in  tone  and  act.  The  reception  made  him  hesitate, 
and  he  began  more  indirectly  than  he  had  intended. 

"Have  you  seen  Belle  lately?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  Miller  answered;  "not  since  the  lady  left 
here." 

"Why  not?"  Bailey  rather  sharply  demanded. 

"It's  only  a  week  or  ten  days." 

"They're  afraid  she's  going  to  be  sick  again.  Do 
you  think  you've  treated  her  square?" 

"When  did  you  see  her?"  asked  Miller,  ignoring 
the  last  question. 

"Wash  told  me." 

"I  tried  to  keep  them  longer;  I  was  afraid  Belle 
was  hardly  strong  enough  for  outdoor  life." 

Bailey  closely  scrutinised  his  host;  the  man  was 


336  CASA  GRANDE 

too  evasive  to  suit  the  sheriff,  who  came;in  a  mood 
for  finding  fault.  "Do  you  think  her  wound  is  the 
trouble?" 

"What  did  Wash  say?" 

"Wash  is  a  boy,"  somewhat  contemptuously  ob 
served  Bailey.  "He  don't  know." 

"Do  you?" 

"I  can  guess — and  you  ought  to,"  sourly  answered 
Bailey. 

"No,  Sam,  I  can't.  If  you  know  what  will  help 
her,  tell  me." 

"There's  no  use  beating  round  the  bush,"  impa 
tiently  declared  the  sheriff.  "You  haven't  been  treat 
ing  her  right;  I  was  afraid  of  it  when  I  saw  how 
she  was  growing  to  feel  toward  you.  Don't  you 
know  you're  making  her  suffer  ?" 

Miller  shook  his  head.  He  knew  she  had  made 
him  suffer,  and  it  would  not  lessen  his  misery  to 
learn  that  she,  too,  suffered,  if  for  the  same  cause. 
He  quietly  answered :  "No,  Sam ;  I  am  unconscious 
of  having  done  anything  to  distress  her." 

"There's  the  trouble.  You're  unconscious  of  it. 
It  means  nothing  to  you,  but  everything  to  her." 


TELL  ME  337 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Know!  Can't  I  see?  I've  warned  you  before, 
and  I  was  right.  Now  you've  done  it." 

Miller,  in  the  light  of  recent  experiences,  could 
not  help  feeling  amused.  "What  would  you  have 
me  do?"  he  asked. 

"You  know  best.  You've  knocked  about  more 
than  I." 

"Then  why  question  my  motives  ?" 

"Because  you've  treated  the  girl  as  an  equal,  with 
out  feeling  that  she  is." 

Miller  quietly  laughed ;  a  sudden  apprehension  im 
pelled  him  to  ask :  "Does  Belle  know  of  the  protest 
you  are  entering  ?" 

"No ;  I'm  acting  on  my  own  judgment.  She's  had 
no  experience.  I  love  her,  and  you've  made  her  un 
happy.  That's  reason  enough !" 

"Yes,  Bailey.  But,  remember,  a  girl  like  Belle 
always  can  protect  herself  from  a  man  like 


me." 


"Evidently  she  hasn't,"  remarked  the  sheriff,  lying 
back  indolently.  "You  must  admit  that  I  have  some 
cause  to  protest,  as  you  call  it." 


338  CASA  GRANDE 

"You  are  not  protesting,  but  interienng,"  drily 
replied  Miller. 

Bailey  looked  up  in  surprise,  and  did  not  imme 
diately  answer.  "I  didn't  intend  to  interfere.  I 
can't  drive  you.  I  just  want  to  explain — to  let  you 
know  how  my  heart  aches  for  her." 

Miller  did  not  reply. 

"I'd  stand  aside  in  a  minute,"  Bailey  continued, 
"if  I  thought  you  would  marry  her  and  make  her 
happy."  i 

"It  seems  to  me,  Bailey,  not  quite  fair  to  Belle, 
this  discussing  of  what  we  would  or  could  do  with 
her."  Miller  spoke  abruptly. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  answered  Bailey,  quite  at  ease, 
'  that  this  is  just  the  time  for  discussion." 

"Do  you  think  gentlemen  should  discuss  a 
woman's  confidence?" 

"No,  no,"  quickly  responded  Bailey.  "I  wouldn't 
think  of  abusing  any  woman's  trust,  and  Belle's 
least  of  all.  I  only  want  to  save  her  from 
pain." 

"A  worthy  purpose;  although  you  go  about  it 
with  a  touch  of  hysteria,  I  fear." 


TELL  ME  339 

"But  I  have  to  sledge-hammer  you,  Miller.  You 
won't  see !" 

"I  trust/'  replied  Miller,  "that  you'll  not  attempt 
to  discipline  other  men  the  same  way;  it  might  put 
Belle  in  a  questionable  position." 

The  sheriff  rose  and  demanded  an  explanation. 

"What  right,"  asked  Miller,  "has  any  man  not  a 
blood  relative  or  an  accepted  lover  to  champion  a 
woman's  cause?" 

Bailey  backed  up  against  a  post  supporting  the 
porch  and  stood  dejectedly  eyeing  the  floor, his  hands 
in  his  pockets.  He  soon  reasoned  out  a  justification, 
and  said : 

"It's  different  between  you  and  me;  you  know  I 
love  her,  and  I  know  you're  making  her  suffer." 

"Yes,  Sam,  I  understand  your  motive;  but,  just 
the  same,  our  intimacy  doesn't  alter  the  right  of 
championship." 

Another  reason  flashed  into  the  sheriff's  mind. 
"I  may  not  be  a  blood  relative,  nor  an  accepted  lover, 
but  I've  done  so  much  more  than  you  for  her  and 
hers  that  I  have  a  right  to  protect  her  from  her  own 


innocence." 


340  CASA  GRANDE 

Miller  leaned  comfortably  back  and  listened. 

"What  have  you  done?"  demanded  the  sheriff. 
"You  put  them  out  of  their  home — refused  them  a 
poor  little  hundred  and  sixty  acres  from  your  thou 
sands.  That's  one  of  the  things  you've  done." 

Miller  uneasily  changed  his  position. 

"You  put  them  all  in  jail,"  Bailey  pursued.  "Then, 
when  your  conscience  troubled  you,  you  helped  me 
get  bail  for  them." 

The  ranchero  did  not  look  at  his  accuser. 

"Oh,  yes.  You  did  put  up  a  new  cabin  for  them. 
But,  after  that,  what  happened  ?  Tom  left  the  coun 
ty,  driven  out  by  a  fear  that  if  he  stayed  he  might 
kill  you.  And  Belle  was  shot  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  your  door!"  The  sheriff's  voice  had 
dropped  to  a  whisper,  and  he  stood  sombrely  above 
the  man  crouching  on  the  settee.  "How  do  you 
know,"  he  went  on,  "that  you  didn't  do  it?  What 
proof  is  there  that  your  bullet  didn't  lay  her 
out?" 

The  ranchero  looked  up  helplessly  and  moistened 
his  lips  with  his  tongue.  He  had  done  all  these  things, 
had  suffered,  and  had  tried  to  atone  for  them.  "Do 


TELL  ME  34i 

.you  think  it  fair,"  he  asked,  "to  remind  me  of  mat 
ters  ;I  gladly  would  forget?  What  good  will 
•••'it  do,?" 

"This  much  good :  It'll  show  you  that  I  have  a 
right  to  protest  against  your  further  wronging 
Belle;  that  I  have  the  right  to  ask  you  to  give  up 
seeing  her — keep  away  from  her." 

Miller  lazily  straightened  himself  and  indulgently 
regarded  his  guest.  To  keep  him  away  from  Belle; 
that  was  the  burden  of  the  sheriff's  purpose.  It  was 
very  evident.  Her  champion  harped  on  her  suffer 
ing,  not  because  she  suffered,  but  because  it  furnished 
a  reason  to  separate  her  from  his  rival.  It  was  a 
harmless  enough  purpose,  and  the  rival  had  listened 
patiently. 

"Suppose,"  he  said,  at  last,  "that  I  do  give  her 
up — keep  away  from  her  ?" 

Bailey's  face  lighted.  "That's  all  I  ask,  old  man ; 
just  stay  away.  Give  her  time  to  see  that  she  must 
not  go  out  of  her  own  class." 

"You  think  I'm  the  cause  of  her  straying?" 

"I  think  you've  put  wrong  ideas  in  her  head,  ex 
cited  longings  that  can't  be  gratified.  She  comes 


342  CASA  GRANDE 

from  plain  people,  whose  women  have  been  content 
to  be  mothers  and  homekeepers." 

"If  I  remember  correctly,"  remarked  Miller,  "you, 
too,  came  from  plain  people." 

"Oh,  yes,"  was  the  annoyed  answer.  "I  can  be 
plain  without  being  an  obscure  drudge.  I  want  to 
own  a  ranch  and  be  master.  Then  you'll  find  me 
as  simple  in  my  home  as  my  grandfather." 

Miller  leaned  back  and  softly  laughed. 

"Anything  wrong  in  my  reasoning?" 

"Your  reasoning  is  the  quintessence  of  logic," 
Miller  answered,  as  he  rose.  "It's  the  purpose  be 
hind  the  reasoning  that  amuses  me.  You  want  a 
clear  field ;  mind  you,  a  clear  field,  not  a  fair  field." 

"No,  sir,  I  don't.  Why,  I've  loved  her  for  years. 
I'm  their  tried  friend.  I  helped  bury  their  father, 
and  ever  since  I've  stood  ready  to  do  what  I  could 
for  them.  I  saved  them,  as  far  as  possible,  the  hu 
miliation  of  being  in  jail.  I  tried  to  save  their  home 
for  them — you  know  that.  I'm  ready  to  give  my 
life  for  her;  I've  proved  it,"  he  declared,  touching 
the  arm  Belle  had  broken. 

"There's  no  doubt  of  your  sincerity,  Bailey.    But 


TELL  ME  343 

have  you  considered  what  you  can  expect  in  return? 
Would  you  take  her  unless  she  loves  you  as  you 
love  her?" 

"I'll  take  her  any  way.  Once  my  wife,  she'll  find 
me  not  a  bad  fellow." 

Miller  watched  the  goldfish  sporting  in  the  foun 
tain,  and  contrasted  the  sheriff's  ideal  of  loving  with 
his  own,  which  would  give  everything,  yet  demanded 
as  much  in  return.  Belle  had  not  proved  herself 
capable  of  yielding  what  he  required,  and  he  con 
sidered  that  Bailey  and  he  were  scarcely  rivals. 

The  sheriff  had  reached  his  limit,  and  felt  that 
the  last  word  had  been  spoken.  He  walked  to  his 
horse,  adjusted  the  blanket  under  the  saddle,  and,  as 
he  was  about  to  mount,  turned  to  Miller  with  the 
remark : 

"You've  not  said  if  you'll  keep  away." 

"No.  Instead,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  should  do  if  I 
were  in  your  place.  I  never  would  give  up  till  she 
sent  me  away." 

"Good-bye."  The  caller  bounded  into  his  saddle. 
"I'll  take  your  advice." 

Bailey  did  not  ride  away  with  the  same  feeling  of 


344  CASA  GRANDE 

vague  uneasiness  that  he  had  ridden  in  with.  He 
had  discovered  but  little  of  Miller's  motives,  yet 
intuition  told  him  that  the  relations  between  Belle 
and  the  ranchero  were  not  as  intimate  as  they  had 
been.  When  he  passed  out  the  gate,  stars  were 
twinkling  and  a  touch  of  frost  was  in  the  air.  At 
the  fork  of  the  road  he  cheerily  turned  toward  Dry 
Creek. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
THAT  THOU  WERT  AS  MY  BROTHER 

IT  was  quite  dark  when  Bailey  reached  the  darks' 
door-yard,  and  Belle  was  not  in  the  cabin,  her 
mother  being  alone  in  the  kitchen.  The  caller  put 
up  his  horse  and  made  himself  at  home  in  the  room 
where  the  widow  was  finishing  the  housework.  They 
spoke  of  the  family  life  at  Casa  Grande,  its  probable 
effect  on  Belle,  and  the  mother  complained  of  the 
girl's  disturbing  symptoms. 

Belle  softly  entered  while  they  were  discussing 
her,  and  before  Bailey  knew  it  she  was  standing 
near  him,  more  a  spirit  than  a  living  being;  for  the 
moment,  he  felt  a  touch  of  weariness  in  her  coming. 
Her  greeting  was  neither  distant  nor  cordial;  she 
had  a  quiet  reserve  that  roused  in  him  a  sudden  pas 
sion  of  resentment,  quickly  dispelled  when  he  saw 
her  face  in  the  dim  light  of  the  candle.  The  features 
were  far  too  expressive  to  hide  the  suffering  that 

345 


346  CASA  GRANDE 

had  been  torturing  her  soul,  and  his  resentment  gave 
way  to  pity. 

He  attempted  the  usual  flow  of  banter,  and  lost 
no  opportunity  to  thrust  at  Miller  and  Mrs.  Payne. 
His  efforts  fell  unresponsively,  however,  and  the 
evening  closed  sombrely  about  them.  As  Belle  left 
to  prepare  the  guest's  bed,  he  quietly  asked  her  to 
wait  after  the  others  had  retired. 

A  log  blazed  in  the  wide  chimney,  and  when  they 
were  at  last  alone  he  moved  two  chairs  before  the 
warmth.  Belle  reluctantly  took  the  seat  offered; 
she  was  in  no  condition  to  undergo  the  coming 
ordeal,  but  felt  it  a  duty,  and  silently  fortified 
herself. 

Bailey  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  her  face.  Un 
usual  pallor  and  a  slight  wasting  of  the  body  inten 
sified  the  appearance  of  refinement  he  had  noticed 
in  the  sick-room,  and  the  gentle  submission  of  her 
attitude  strongly  affected  him.  He  was  studying 
quite  another  individual  than  the  girl  he  had  known, 
yet  with  enough  of  her  old  familiarity  to  keep  him 
from  feeling  utterly  estranged.  The  rough  com 
radeship  of  yesterday  was  gone,  and  in  its  place 


THOU  WERT  AS  MY  BROTHER        347 

were  quiet  confidence,  gentle  seriousness,  that  told 
of  a  new  and  mysterious  inner  life,  to  be  disclosed 
only  to  a  kindred  soul. 

He  rose  with  a  movement  of  impatience  and 
turned  his  back  to  the  fire.  That  inner  life  of  hers 
might  be  beyond  him ;  what  difference  need  it  make  ? 
She  could  live  it  alone:  all  were  more  or  less  alone 
in  this  world.  His  insistent  impression  was  her 
sweetness,  and  he  coveted  her  more  than  ever. 
Whether  or  not  his  affection  could  satisfy  the  crav 
ing  of  her  soul  never  entered  his  speculations ;  in  his 
understanding,  affection  meant  only  domestic  com 
fort  and  sympathy,  and  he  felt  able  to  supply  both 
abundantly. 

The  way  to  approach  the  subject  clamouring  for 
expression  disquieted  him,  however.  Her  manner 
reflected  Miller's  influence,  and  he  wondered  at  the 
sudden  change.  If  she  were  only  more  respon 
sive,  a  little  less  passive,  he  would  know  how  to 
begin. 

"Your  stay  at  the  big  house  hasn't  done  you  much 
good,"  he  at  last  ventured. 

She  gazed  absently  into  the  blaze,  and  dreamed  of 


348  CASA  GRANDE 

the  other  fireplace  that  had  been  hers  many  months 
— of  the  other  voice  that  sounded  ever  in  her  mem 
ory,  soothing,  caressing,  thrilling.  She  was  too  far 
away  to  reply. 

"I've  just  come  from  Casa  Grande,"  he  continued. 
"We  were  talking  of  you.  It's  no  use,  Belle ;  you're 
not  suited  to  him." 

A  dangerous  gleam  came  into  her  eyes,  unob 
served,  however,  by  the  visitor. 

"I  told  him  he  had  no  right  to  fool  you  the  way 
he  had  been ;  that  he  was  making  you  unhappy " 

"How  dare  you,  Sam  Bailey!"  she  cried,  spring 
ing  up ;  "how  dare  you !"  The  quiver  of  her  voice 
and  the  tumult  of  her  breast  showed  how  keenly  he 
had  offended. 

"He  surely  don't  care,  Belle.  He  looks  on  you-all 
as  so  much  white  trash,  to  be  kicked  out  when  he 
tires  of  you." 

The  expression  on  her  face  turned  to  amusement, 
and  she  sat  down. 

"That's  what  I  told  him,"  continued  Bailey,  "and 
he  couldn't  deny  it.  He  said  he  hadn't  been  to  see 
you  since  you  left  there." 


THOU  WERT  AS  MY  BROTHER         349 

"I  thought  you  knew,  Sam,"  she  quietly  replied, 
"that  he  never  has  been  to  see  us  but  once."  Her 
expression  was  not  the  least  resentful. 

"He'll  never  marry  you.  You're  not  his  kind. 
Mrs.  Payne  is;  there's  a  big  difference." 

The  expression  of  her  face  was  still  unchanged. 

"If  he  ever  asks  you  to  have  him,  look  out;  he'll 
never  make  you  his  wife." 

Her  breast  went  suddenly  to  heaving  again,  and 
he  noted  her  distress  with  pleasure.  She  was  Miller 
all  over;  if  she  would  not  talk,  her  guest  would  find 
a  way  to  make  her  show  feeling. 

"All  he  wants  is  to  get  you  in  his  arms — then 
see!" 

He  was  blundering  shamelessly,  so  dense  as  not 
to  realise  that  her  trust  in  the  man  he  had  been  tra 
ducing  was  too  sincere  to  consider  any  defence  of 
him  necessary.  She  quietly  rose,  took  a  candle  from 
the  mantel  and  prepared  to  light  it. 

"Wait,  Belle,"  he  said,  coaxingly;  "I'll  say  no 
more  against  Miller.  You've  made  a  god  of  him, 
and  he  can't  do  wrong.  You'll  have  heartache  and 
trouble,  though,  as  long  as  you  love  out  of  your 


350  CASA  GRANDE 

class.  Take  me,"  he  impetuously  pleaded.  "You 
know  how " 

"Please  don't!"  The  swift  change  from  Miller 
to  himself  had  startled  her,  and  she  stood  with  her 
hand  pressed  to  her  throat  and  eyes  pleading  for  her. 

But  he  had  waited  long,  and  his  own  desire  sub 
merged  all  other  emotion.  "You  must  love  me ;  you 
will  as  soon  as  you  get  him  out  of  your  thoughts. 
We  were  happy  before  he  came — we'll  be  happy 
again.  Think  how  long  I've  waited — all  I've  done." 

"I  have,  Sam.  I  really  have  tried."  She  looked 
away  from  him,  and  added :  "You're  like  a  brother, 
and  I  love  you  the  way  I  love  Tom  and  Wash." 

"I  know,  Belle;  you've  loved  me  that  way  a  long 
time.  You'll  learn  to  love  me  better  when  we're 
married;  that's  your  style.  You  can  trust  me — it 
has  been  ever  since  your  father  died.  You  were  a 
little  girl  with  dresses  to  your  knees — I've  been  your 
friend  through  thick  and  thin." 

She  grasped  the  high  mantel  shelf,  leaned  her 
head  on  her  upraised  arm,  and  dreamily  gazed  into 
the  fire. 

"There  never  has  been  any  other  woman,  honey — 


THOU  WERT  AS  MY  BROTHER        351 

your  image  always.  Ever  since  I  was  first  made 
deputy  sheriff  have  I  been  shaping  things  to  marry 
you.  I  bought  a  big  ranch  the  other  day.  It's  for 
you." 

She  looked  at  him,  pain  and  distress  on  her  face. 
The  hollows  under  her  eyes  were  deepening  and  her 
voice  had  grown  thin.  "I've  tried  for  months  to 
let  you  see."  Her  lips  trembled  in  an  effort  at  self- 
control.  "I  haven't  deceived  you." 

Her  evident  distress,  her  physical  weakening, 
were  signs  of  yielding,  to  his  imagination;  and  he 
went  on,  regardless  of  the  anguish  he  was  causing, 
unconscious  of  his  brutality:  "I've  worked  and 
saved  for  that  ranch  many  years.  I  know  you'll 
like  it." 

Her  thoughts  were  getting  confused,  and  his  voice 
sounded  far  off.  She  turned  away  her  head  again. 

"I  tried  to  save  your  home  for  you  when  he  put 
you  off;  tried  to  save  you."  Her  cheek  was  resting 
against  her  arm  as  she  leaned  on  the  mantel,  and 
she  did  not  move.  He  gently  laid  a  hand  on  her. 
"The  scar  on  this  arm  I'll  take  to  my  grave.  It  was 
for  your  sake,  sweetheart." 


352  CASA  GRANDE 

"Oh,  Sam,  please !"  The  cry  came  from  the  depths 
of  her  womanhood  as  she  faced  him.  She  was  trem 
bling  as  if  from  a  chill,  and  her  cheeks  were  ashen. 
She  kept  her  hand  on  the  shelf  to  steady  herself. 

"You  must  love  me,  Belle — you  will/7  he  went  on, 
desperately.  "Say  you'll  be  my  wife.  Trust  me. 
You'll  learn  to  love  me  as  well  as  you  think  you  love 
him." 

She  slowly  shook  her  head,  her  eyes  cast  down, 
chained  where  she  was  by  a  feeling  that  she  must 
fall  if  she  stirred. 

"I  can't  let  you  go,  honey;  I  won't  I'll  be  your 
lifelong  slave;  he'll  be  your  master,  whatever  you 
are  to  him.  Try  me.  Trust  me,  little  girl — my  only 
love." 

He  held  out  his  arms;  she  looked  at  them  out 
stretched  to  her — at  him.  Something  was  obscuring 
her  vision,  and  she  slowly  brushed  her  fingers  across 
the  lids.  She  groped  for  the  mantel  and  swayed  to 
ward  him;  he  caught  her  before  she  fell — she  had 
swooned. 

He  was  alarmed  at  what  he  had  done,  and  quickly 
had  Mrs.  Clark  working  over  her.  The  girl  soon 


THOU  WERT  AS  MY  BROTHER    353 

revived,  and  when  she  again  became  conscious  she 
flung  her  arms  about  her  mother  and  burst  into  a 
passion  of  tears. 

He  stood  humbly  by,  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 
She  turned,  at  last,  her  emotion  controlled,  and  held 
out  her  hand.  On  her  face  was  a  light  that  made 
him  think  of  angels. 

"I  want  you  to  be  my  dear  brother,"  she  said. 

He  caught  her  ringers  with  a  grip  of  despair  and 
smothered  them  in  both  his  trembling  palms,  then 
bent  and  tenderly  kissed  them.  "Forgive  me,  Belle. 
I  see  now.  I'm  too  rough.  You  wouldn't  be  happy 
with  me.  He  called  you  a  thoroughbred.  You're 
fit  for  a  king ! — and  Miller  is  a  prince." 

He  turned  and  t®ok  down  his  hat  and  cloak. 

"You  mustn't  go,"  protested  Mrs.  Clark,  hasten 
ing  toward  him. 

"Yes ;  I  must."  He  stopped  to  gaze  at  Belle,  now 
reclining  in  an  easy-chair.  "You're  the  first  woman 
I  ever  loved.  I'll  never  find  one  so  sweet.  Good 
bye." 

When  his  step  no  longer  sounded  in  the  yard,  Mrs. 
Clark  closed  the  outer  door,  walked  over  and  laid 


354  CASA  GRANDE 

her  hand  caressingly  on  Belle's  hair.  The  older 
woman  had  no  words  to  express  sympathy ;  her  life 
had  been  too  repressed.  But  an  impulse  long  mov 
ing  found  expression,  at  last,  in  this  tender  act 

The  girl  reached  gratefully  up  and  clasped  the 
thin,  worn  fingers.  "I  tried,  mother.  But  I 
couldn't!" 

Her  mother  knelt  beside  her  and  drew  the  troubled 
face  down  on  her  breast 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
WHEN  I  SHOULD  FIND  THEE 

BELLE'S  interview  with  Bailey,  although  dis 
tressing,  proved  a  balm,  for  it  awakened  her 
to  the  selfishness  of  her  own  grieving.  She  had 
caused  suffering  to  a  well-loved  friend,  and  the 
thought  of  his  pain,  of  the  hopeless  days  that  must 
follow  her  refusal,  took  her  fancy  from  her  own 
misery  by  enlisting  her  sympathy  for  his. 

As  she  lay  in  bed  late  the  morning  after  the  sher 
iff's  departure  her  mind  went  back  over  the  swift 
changes  a  few  months  had  wrought.  Two  suitors 
had  asked  for  her  love,  both  tried  and  manly  fel 
lows.  Her  throat  filled  with  pride  at  the  memory, 
even  though  both  had  failed  her,  for  it  was  a  com 
fort  to  know  that  she  had  been  prized. 

The  refusal  of  Bailey  seemed  inevitable.  He  might 
have  been  her  intellectual  superior  until  within  the 

355 


356  CASA  GRANDE 

year,  but  she  was  rapidly  outgrowing  his  horizon, 
and  she  more  and  more  felt  how  lonely  companion 
ship  with  him  would  be.  The  animal  stage  of  her 
existence  was  passing  forever  and  her  soul  clam 
oured  for  expression;  the  animal  stage  of  his  exist 
ence  never  would  pass.  It  had  been  hard  to  say  no, 
but  the  wisdom  of  the  decision  she  could  not  ques 
tion. 

The  misunderstanding  with  Miller,  however,  was 
a  problem  quite  beyond  her  penetration.  His  neglect 
to  follow  up  the  opportunity  she  had  tried  to  make 
plain  very  nearly  unseated  her  reason  the  first  week 
after  their  parting.  Had  the  truth  not  come  to  her 
through  the  slow  delay  of  unfulfilled  days,  had  she 
realised  at  the  hour  how  utterly  he  would  fail  her, 
the  will-power  that  previous  months  of  suffering  had 
weakened  must  have  given  way  under  the  strain  of 
his  desertion.  But  after  days  of  such  anguish  as 
only  ardent  youth  can  feel,  exhausted  endurance  left 
an  apathy  that  served  as  an  anodyne  to  her  tortured 
fancy,  and  gave  her  courage  to  stiffen  again  under 
the  burden  that  threatened  to  crush  her  down. 

With  returning  tranquillity  came  renewed  activity 


WHEN  I  SHOULD  FIND  THEE         357 

of  her  receptive  mind ;  once  more  reason  grew  domi 
nant  over  feeling,  and  womanhood  asserted  itself. 
As  she  gradually  recognised  her  own  emotions — 
her  passion  of  loving,  her  craving  to  be  loved — a 
doubt  arose  of  Miller's  worthiness;  the  man  her 
fancy  had  garbed  with  the  perfections,  the  impulses, 
of  a  god  took  on  the  shape  of  common  clay,  with 
all  its  native  pettiness.  Only  two  alternatives  seemed 
possible :  he  must  be  stupid  or  insincere ;  and  whether 
the  one  or  the  other,  he  was  unworthy  of  confidence. 
The  conclusion  did  not  yield  her  consolation,  but  it 
changed  the  early  humiliation  of  having  failed  Mil 
ler  to  a  growing  contempt  for  his  having  failed 
her. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  month  the  law  of  blessed 
compensations,  which  exhausts  a  love  that  finds  no 
equal  love  to  feed  upon,  had  already  begun  to  heal 
Belle's  hurt,  and  bitterness  and  disappointment  were 
giving  way  to  regret.  Her  memory  persisted  in  re 
calling  that  last  aggrieved  glance  of  Miller's  when 
they  parted,  as  if  he  had  measured  her  emotion  by  his 
own  and  found  hers  wanting.  She  resented  the  dis 
appointment  in  his  look,  and  all  it  implied,  as  she 


358  CASA  GRANDE 

resented  his  heartlessness  in  neglecting  her;  never 
theless,  she  continued  to  grieve  because  she  had 
failed  him. 

As  the  days  wore  on,  she  found  that  life  could  go 
forward  again,  that  her  strength  was  responding  to 
the  burden  she  bore,  and  peace  came  slowly  back 
into  her  heart ;  once  more  the  sun  shone,  birds  sang, 
and  the  perfume  of  spring  was  in  the  air.  It 
was  not  quite  the  same  as  former  springs — the  joy 
ous  abandon  of  living  had  sobered — but  in  its  place 
were  memories  and  dreams  that  never  before  had 
come.  Tireless  activity  no  longer  was  necessary — 
a  deeper  attraction  hiding  in  wooded  solitudes 
where  something  within  her  welled  up  in  divine 
thankfulness  just  for  existence  itself. 

She  soon  took  up,  quite  cheerfully,  the  round  of 
daily  cares,  and  now  and  again  her  mother  caught 
the  low  notes  of  some  old  song,  which  she  heard 
with  swelling  throat  and  misty  vision.  Colour  came 
back  to  the  girl's  cheeks  and  her  step  regained  its 
accustomed  swing ;  but  the  alertness  in  her  eyes  had 
given  way  to  the  changeful  depths  of  mountain 
pools,  awaiting  an  image  to  be  mirrored  in  them. 


WHEN  I  SHOULD  FIND  THEE         359 

And  all  the  while  Wash  noted  alterations  in 
her  dress.  Her  costumes  had  always  pleased  the 
younger  brother's  sense  of  fitness,  merely  because 
they  had  appeared  part  of  her  swing  and  dash.  They 
had  been  not  entirely  mannish — rather,  wild  and 
striking;  gradually,  however,  they  were  taking  on 
an  air  of  femininity  and  softness  that  sometimes  em 
barrassed  the  boy. 

He  called  attention  to  the  change  one  morning  at 
table.  "Maw/'  he  said,  "we've  got  a  lady  in  the 
family." 

But  when  the  lady  caught  him  in  her  arms,  some 
thing  awoke,  perhaps  the  feminine  instinct  latent  in 
all  men ;  and  never  again  did  he  mention  the  subject. 

This  change  in  her  raiment  was  not  on  Miller's 
account,  however.  Why  should  it  be?  She  never 
saw  him  now,  except  at  a  distance ;  he  did  not  come 
her  way,  and  she  was  too  feminine  to  go  his  way. 
She  was  changing  the  style  of  her  clothing  as  she 
was  changing  other  things — because  it  seemed  fit 
and  proper  and  gave  her  pleasure.  And  it  must  have 
been  her  own  sense  of  fitness,  since  she  avoided  all 
men. 


360  CASA  GRANDE 

Belle,  as  her  spirits  revived,  turned  her  glances 
more  frequently  in  the  direction  of  Casa  Grande. 
She  was  certain  that  Miller  avoided  Dry  Creek,  al 
though  she  had  left  him  no  excuse  to  stay  away. 
And  yet,  never  a  horseman  passed  from  the  direction 
of  the  old  fort  that  she  did  not  start  and  watch. 

She  took  to  climbing  the  range  that  overlooked 
the  valley  of  Aguas  Frias  to  scan  the  velvet  carpet 
of  the  hills  set  with  budding  oak  and  flowering 
buckeye.  She  never  sought  for  Miller;  it  was  not 
his  form  that  led  her  to  that  vantage  point,  even 
though  she  could  readily  distinguish  him  far  away, 
as  he  rode  to  his  daily  tasks;  but  her  wandering 
usually  ended  with  a  glimpse  of  him. 

As  the  days  lengthened  and  the  air  grew  warm, 
she  went  more  frequently  to  the  brow  of  the  hill. 
She  passed  even  beyond,  well  in  the  cover  of  trees, 
ever  nearer  to  the  old  house,  developed  the  craft  of 
an  Indian  in  hiding,  and  found  wild  delight  in  ap 
proaching  Miller's  haunts  without  being  seen. 

They  met  at  last,  face  to  face,  riding  on  a  narrow 
trail.  He  leaped  from  his  saddle  and  held  his  horse 
on  a  steep  bench  while  she  passed. 


WHEN  I  SHOULD  FIND  THEE         361 

"Aren't  you  going  to  speak,  John?"  she  asked. 

He  left  his  mount  behind  hers,  went  to  her  side, 
and  clasped  her  warm,  firm  hand  with  the  grip  of 
proprietorship  which  had  thrilled -her  before.  She 
would  not  yield  to  mere  claiming,  although  she 
might  to  force,  and  she  quickly  drew  away  her  rin 
gers  and  averted  her  face. 

"No,"  he  smilingly  answered ;  "not  yet."  He  still 
failed  to  understand  how  she  differed  from  the 
women  of  his  class,  who  bestowed  love  as  a  gift, 
without  any  need  of  compulsion. 

"When  ?"  She  spoke  so  low  it  was  almost  a  sigh, 
and  dropped  her  hand  beside  her,  close  enough  to 
him  to  feel  his  breath  on  her  fingers. 

He  clasped  them  again  and  looked  up;  her  face 
was  still  turned  away.  He  pressed  the  fingers  to  his 
lips,  and  lightly  answered:  "When  you  send  for 
me." 

As  before,  she  abruptly  rode  off ;  out  at  a  turn  in 
the  trail  she  looked  back  happily,  blew  a  kiss  to  him, 
and  disappeared. 

He  stood  a  long  time  where  she  left  him  and  som 
brely  gazed  in  the  direction  she  had  vanished.  He 


362  CASA  GRANDE 

must  not  follow — not  yet.  It  was  a  trying  ordeal, 
this  waiting  for  her  to  recognise  her  own  emotion. 
She  either  loved  him  so  much,  or  hated  him  so  in 
tensely,  that  she  could  not  be  merely  civil;  and  the 
slightest  mistake  on  his  part  would  drive  her  from 
him,  perhaps  beyond  recovery. 

He  went  back  to  his  daily  routine,  this  time  sus 
tained  and  comforted  by  the  knowledge  that  she  was 
hovering  always  near,  like  a  mother-bird  flitting 
about  her  nest — the  shy  advancing,  the  swift  retreat 
ing;  and  all  the  while  he  must  not,  by  glance 
or  motion,  let  her  know  that  he  was  aware  of  her 
presence. 

It  came  at  last  to  be  a  matter  of  every-day  occur- 
ence  thus  evasively  to  meet  each  other.  Even  Gyp 
understood  what  led  her  master  to  certain  parts  of 
his  range,  and  the  dog  now  took  part  in  the  by-play 
between  maiden  and  man. 

Belle  must  suddenly  have  become  conscious  that 
she  was  observed  by  Miller  when  the  dog  came  into 
the  action,  for  the  girl  disappeared  from  the  range 
and  her  daily  visits  ceased. 

Miller  wandered  alertly  over  the  parts  of  his  ranch 


WHEN  I  SHOULD  FIND  THEE         363 

that  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  visiting,  but  with 
never  a  glimpse  of  her.  He  soon  became  satisfied 
that  she  was  now  observing  him,  and  he  found  him 
self  the  seeker,  instead  of  the  one  sought.  It  pleased 
him  to  learn  how  intensely  feminine  she  was  and 
how  persistently  she  refused  to  surrender.  Then  he, 
too,  ceased  his  visits  to  that  part  of  the  range  near 
Dry  Creek. 

The  month  of  June  was  at  hand,  and  everything 
in  heaven  above,  and  the  earth  beneath,  and  even 
the  waters  under  the  earth,  was  clamorous  of  love 
and  conspiring  with  the  lover.  One  night,  as  Miller 
was  about  to  retire,  wearied  after  a  hard  day's  rid 
ing,  he  thought  he  heard  the  swish  of  moccasined 
feet  on  the  porch.  The  night  was  dark;  Gyp  was 
with  Manuel,  and  his  own  vision  could  detect  noth 
ing  but  the  shadowy  underbrush.  He  whistled  for 
the  dog,  and  when  she  responded,  there  was  no 
doubt  who  had  made  the  noise  on  the  porch.  It  was 
half  an  hour  before  Gyp  returned,  and  she  gave 
every  sign  of  happiness,  leaped  on  her  master, 
whined,  and  tried  to  let  him  know  where  she  had 
been.  She  succeeded  quite  well. 


364  CASA  GRANDE 

The  ranchero  now  changed  the  time  of  his  wan 
dering.  He  discovered  that  the  girl  was  coming 
after  dark,  and  she  might  easily  approach  close  to 
the  house  without  being  molested  by  the  dogs,  every 
one  of  them  knowing  and  loving  her.  He  had  an 
advantage  in  always  taking  Gyp  along,  for  what  her 
eyes  could  not  see  or  her  ears  hear  her  keen  scent 
could  detect. 

So  the  girl  was  forced  from  the  range  once  again. 
Once  again,  however,  she  was  equal  to  his  vigilance, 
for  her  tracks  betrayed  her.  Miller  knew  that  she 
was  still  coming  to  the  old  house,  although  he  beat 
the  range  nightly  till  after  midnight,  without  finding 
her.  Then  it  occurred  to  him  to  try  the  early  morn 
ing. 

He  came  upon  her  at  last,  and  only  the  girl's  alert 
ness  saved  her.  It  was  a  little  before  dawn,  and 
Gyp,  just  ahead  of  him,  barked  sharply  but  joyously. 
He  went  swiftly  to  the  spot,  but  dog  and  girl  had 
fled;  and,  although  he  followed,  he  failed  to  over 
take  them. 

The  sun  was  peeping  over  the  eastern  hills  when 
Gyp  came  back  to  him.  About  her  throat  was  tied 


WHEN  I  SHOULD  FIND  THEE         365 

Belle's  crimson  ribbon.  He  had  caught  the  flash  of 
it  on  her  hair  that  morning1,  in  the  dim  light,  and 
stood  looking  happily  at  his  loved  one's  message. 
There  could  be  no  mistaking  the  signals:  she  had 
struck  her  colours,  and  he  now  might  go  and  claim 
the  citadel  of  her  heart. 

He  stooped  to  take  the  ribbon  from  Gyp's  neck, 
but  she  deftly  avoided  him  and  barked  joyfully. 
When  he  went  toward  her,  she  leaped  and  bounded 
in  the  direction  she  had  left  Belle,  as  if  to  coax  her 
master  to  follow.  He  surmised  her  object,  and  shook 
his  head. 

"Not  yet,  old  lady,"  he  said.  "Let  us  wait  an 
hour  or  two." 

The  day  was  Sunday,  just  a  year  since  he  had 
carried  the  bunch  of  azaleas  to  Belle.  He  would  keep 
the  anniversary  by  taking  her  another  bunch,  and 
went  to  the  glen  to  gather  them.  The  sun  was  hot ; 
birds  vied  with  one  another  in  making  melody;  the 
noise  of  insects  was  clamorous,  and  over  it  all  was 
the  sleepy  murmur  of  Aguas  Frias,  not  quite  run 
dry. 

As  the  man  rounded  a  bluff  in  the  trail,  he  looked 


366  CASA  GRANDE 

down  on  the  thicket  of  creamy  white  blossoms  not 
twenty  feet  away,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  was  Belle. 
Something  in  her  appearance  caught  at  his  throat 
and  fetched  his  breath  in  gasps. 

The  sounds  of  nature's  rejoicing  had  prevented 
her  from  hearing  his  approach,  and  she  kept  on  fill 
ing  her  arms  with  the  flowers,  the  same  purpose  in 
her  mind  as  in  her  lover's.  Instinct  told  her  that 
he  would  come  to-day,  and  she  planned  to  surprise 
him. 

A  wide-brimmed  straw  hat  lay  on  the  ground, 
and  she  had  replaced  the  customary  blue  waist  with 
white.  Her  hair  was  caught  back  and  fell  in  a 
half-dozen  glossy  ringlets  to  her  shoulders,  and  her 
shining  face  mirrored  heaven. 

A  motion  of  his  caused  her  to  look  up.  She  slowly 
straightened  and  her  lips  parted.  The  mass  of  blos 
soms  slid  from  her  relaxing  clasp  and  clung  to  her 
garments — twined  themselves  in  the  curves  of  her 
supple  body  on  their  way  to  the  earth. 

"John !"  slie  cried,  and  held  out  her  Hands. 

With  a  bound,  as  might  an  elemental  man,  fie  fiad 
her  in  his  arms.  The  babble  of  flowing  water  hushed. 


WHEN  I  SHOULD  FIND  THEE         367 

The  music  of  bird-notes  ceased.  The  shrilling  of  in 
sects  stilled.  The  shadows  in  the  glen  were  glori 
fied.  And  life  and  love  and  ecstasy  closed  about 
them  in  divine  silence. 

THE   END 


"A  book  that  holds  the  reader  absorbed    *    *     *     will  stir 
the  blood  of  any  not  deaf  to  the  inspiration  of  brave  deeds."— 

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Losers'  Luck. 

By  CHARLES  TENNEY  JACKSON.  $1.50. 


A  story  of  filibusters  of  reckless  humor  and  courage, 
who  fought  and  most  of  whom  died,  for  a  woman.  The 
scenes  are  chiefly  aboard  a  yacht  and  in  Guatemala,  and 
the  time  today. 

"These  men  are  swept  by  the  momentum  of  the  game  into  a  fever 
of  enthusiasm,  *  *  *  it  sweeps  you  along  *  *  *  unusually  readable."— 
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"Remarkably  amusing  *  *  *  engagingly  told  *  *  *  The  sort  of 
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gets  there."—  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"Despite  the  reckless  absurdity  of  plot,  the  spirited  writing  of  the 
book  really  holds  the  reader  interested  *  *  *  the  description  of  the 
princess's  American  Legion's  last  stand  carries  the  reader  along  with  a 
rush  of  enthusiastic  interest  for  which  no  apology  is  needed."— New 
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"This  lively  book  may  be  described  as  a  blend  of  Bret  Hart  and 
Mr.  Richard  Harding  Davis,  and  the  mixture  is  commendable." — Dial. 

"Mr.  Jackson  shows  a  vivid  imagination  *  *  *  but  he  does  not 
over-reach  himself  *  *  *  His  situations  carry  conviction,  and  his  pen 
pictures  of  battle  and  carnage  are  as  vivid  and  original  as  some  of 
Kipling's  own."— Brooklyn  Life. 

"A  novel  in  which  there  is  something  doing  all  the  time  *  *  * 
No  ordinary  fighting  *  *  *  The  author  has  succeeded  admirably  in 
showing  even  in  an  exaggerated  narrative  how  men  will  'wade  through 
slaughter  to  a  throne1,  by  force  of  woman's  power,  especially  if  her 
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"Thrilling  romance  *  *  *  One  of  the  liveliest  tales  of  adven 
ture  the  season  has  produced  *  *  *  Literally  brimful  of  startling 
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"The  kind  of  fiction  that  goes,  the  kind  that  grips  the  mind  and 
imagination.  Mr.  Jackson  is  the  Lochinvar,  and  he  rides  a  spirited 
steed  *  *  *  Rattling,  dashing,  thrilling  tale  of  filibustering,  fighting, 
sacrificing,  dying  and  loving  *  *  *  There  is  so  much  action,  and 
there  are  so  many  delightful  characters  in  this  story  that  it  is  impossible 
to  note  them  all  *  *  *  It  is  certain  that  Mr.  Jackson  will  not  have 
"losers'  luck"  with  his  first  novel."—  Washington  Star. 

"Lots  of  love-making  ;  lots  of  fighting  ;  lots  of  adventure.  We 
commend  "Losers' Luck."  *  *  *  A  book  like  this  is  often  worth  a 
dozen  of  the  plodding,  petty,  realistic  sort." — The  Argonaut^  San  Frrn- 
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Novels  by  May  Sinclair 

SUPERSEDED 

A  STORY  of  two  strongly  contrasted  teachers 
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an  old  maid  arithmetic  teacher  whose  rule- 
ridden  soul  finally  awakens  to  the  real  world  of 
men,  women  and  love,  and  the  "classical  mis 
tress,"  a  beautiful  and  vital  woman  who  tries  to 
help  her  less  fortunate  colleague.  Despite  the 
pathos  of  the  tale,  there  is  a  strong  sense  of  the 
underlying  humor  and  continuity  of  things 
throughout  the  book,  and  at  the  close  two  of  the 
important  characters  are  "  trying  not  to  look  too 
happy."  The  author  considers  it  her  best  work 
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THE  DIVINE  FIRE 


ENERALLY  agreed,  by  leading  critics,  to 
be  the  best  novel  of  1905.    A  story  of  the 
degeneration  of  a  London  critic  and  the 
regeneration  of  a  London  poet.     $1.50. 

"I  find  her  book  the  most  remarkable  that  I  have  read  for 
many  years."—  Oiven  Seaman  in  Punch  (London). 

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worthy  to  compare  with  'The  Divine  Fire,'  nothing  even  re 
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A  Novel  of  Distinction  Praised  by  Authorities 

The  Professor's  Legacy 

By  MRS.  ALFRED  SIDGWICK. 

A  love  story  of  German  University  and  English 
country  life,  notable  for  humor  and  fine  character 
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"Marked  by  admirable  humor  *  *  *  one  of  the  most  capable 
and  satisfying  of  stories."— New  York  Sun. 

"Strongly  reminds  one  of  Miss  Fothergill's  'First  Violin'  *  *  * 
the  tale  is  a  good  one,  told  with  much  humor  and  much  excel 
lent  character  study  *  *  *  very  readable."— New  York  Times 
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"One  of  the  most  interesting  and  well-told  novels  of  the  season, 
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uThe  characters  *  *  *  seem  real,  and  the  background  is  filled 
in  with  suggestive  little  touches  that  help  one  to  see."— Bookman. 

"Thoroughly  pleasing  *  *  *  naturally  told  *  *  *  a  commendable 
clever,  pretty  book."— San  Francisco  Argonaut. 

"There  are  many  readers  who  will  be  grateful  for  having  had 
it  brought  to  their  attention." — Life. 

By  a  New  Author  of  Promise 

The   Nonchalante 

By  STANLEY  OLMSTED. 

Casual  data  touching  the  career  of  Dixie  Bilton, 
Operettensaengerin.  $1.25. 

"Has  the  artistic  merit  of  being  complete  in  its  incompleteness 
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"Dixie  Bilton  brings  before  us  a  tantalizing  and  highly  compli 
cated  temperament.  .  .  .  Aside  from  the  cleverly  drawn  leading 
characters  we  find  much  to  enjoy  in  life-like  representation  of 
continental  easy-goingness  in  sleepy  Plissestadt,  with  its  con 
servatory,  the  intemperate  American  students,  cafe  life  and 
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"Not  only  worth  reading,  but.  ...  a  work  to  be  reckoned  with 
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A  remarkable  humorous  yarn 

That  has  been  compared  favorably  with  the  work  of 
Dickens,  Stockton,  Hark  Twain  and  Jacobs. 

The    Belted    Seas 

By  ARTHUR  COLTON 

A  story  of  the  wild  voyages  of  the  irrepressible  Captain 
Buckingham  in  Southern  seas.  Not  the  least  attractive  of  its 
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New  York  Evening  Post^:  "A  whimsical  Odyssey.  .  .  .  What 
Jacobs  has  done  for  the  British  seaman,  Colton  has  done  for  the  Yankee 
sailor." 

Cincinnati  Enquirer  :  "  Never  has  the  peculiar  brand  of  humor  which 
South  America  affords  been  more  skilfully  exploited  than  by  Arthur  Colton 
in  The  Belted  Seas  .  .  .  .  It  is  a  joyous  book,  and  he  were  a  hardened 
reader  indeed  who  would  not  chortle  with  satisfaction  over  Kid  Saddler's 
adventures  at  Portate  ....  Many  of  the  stories  are  uproariously  funny 
and  recall  Stockton  at  his  best,  yet  with  a  human  appeal,  pathetic  rather 
than  comic — two  of  the  very  best  qualities  which  vibrate  in  Mark  Twain's 
work." 

Life  .•  "  Colton  always  has  something  to  say  ...  a  sailor's  yarn 
spun  in  an  old  tavern  on  Long  Island  to  a  company  worthy  of  Dickens." 

New  York  Tribune :  "  A  humorist,  spontaneous  and  demure  .  .  . 
droll  all  through." 

New  York  Globe  :  "  The  best  thing  about  these  stories  is  that  they 
are  told  just  as  they  happened — at  least  so  it  seems.  It  seems  to  be  the 
old  sea  captain  talking  rather  than  a  literary  man  writing,  to  produce 
which  illusion  is,  of  course,  the  perfection  of  literary  art." 

Public  Opinion  :  "  Colton's  sailormen  are  flesh  and  blood." 

Chicago  Tribune  :  "  Amazing  tales  of  the  sea.  .  .  .  The  whole 
book  is  enjoyable." 

Chicago  Record-Herald :  "  Humor  pervades  every  paragraph.  .  .  . 
There  is  no  lack  of  quiet  philosophy." 


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America,  Asia  and  the  Pacific 

WITH   SPECIAL   REFERENCE  TO  THE    RUSSO-JAPANESE 
WAR   AND   ITS   RESULTS 

By  DR.  WOLF  VON  SCHIERBRAND, 

Author  of  " 'Germany  of  To-day" 

13  maps,  334  pp.     $1.50,  net.     (By  mail,  $1.62.) 

This  book  treats  the  present  conflict  and  its  probable  results 
as  only  preliminary  to  larger  considerations.  It  considers 
America's  relations  to  all  the  countries  affected  by  the  Pan 
ama  Canal,  to  those  on  both  coasts  of  the  Pacific,  and  to  the 
islands,  besides  analyzing  the  strength  and  weakness  of  our 
rivals. 

Public  Opinion:— "  A  most  interesting  treatise  .  .  .  having  an  im 
portant  bearing  upon  our  future  progress." 

Review  of  Reviews: — "  His  observations  on  the  Panama  Canal  and 
the  future  of  the  Dutch  East  Indies  are  particularly  interesting  and 
suggestive." 

Outlook: — "An  interesting  .  .  .  survey  of  a  broad  field.  .  .  .  The 
work  contains  a  great  variety  of  useful  information  concerning  the 
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Philadelphia  Ledger: — "Will  repay  perusal  by  every  thoughtful 
business  man.  .  .  .  Presenting  in  a  forceful  and  attractive  manner  the 
importance  of  the  Pacific  as  the  future  field  for  the  world's  political 
and  commercial  activity." 

Russian   Politics 

By  HERBERT  M.  THOMPSON.     With  maps,  I2mo,  $2.00. 

An  account  of  the  relations  of  Russian  geography,  history, 
and  politics,  and  of  the  bearings  of  the  last  on  questions  of 
world-wide  interest. 

Outlook: — "The  result  of  careful  study,  compactly,  clearly,  and 
effectively  presented.  .  .  .  The  author's  aim  is  to  stir  the  friends  of 
freedom  throughout  the  world  to  a  deeper  interest  in  the  cause  of 
Russian  liberty.  His  work  is- vivified  by  the  fact  that  his  heart  is  in 
it.  The  chapters  upon  the  methods  by  which  the  Russian  serfs  were 
emancipated,  and  the  manner  in  which  they  have  been  almost  re- 
enslaved  by  debt  and  taxation,  are  particularly  worthy  of  the  ex 
amination  of  students  of  social  politics. 


Henry     Holt     and     Company 

23  W.  230  STREET  (vn,  '05)  NEW  YORK 


Xlale's   Dramatists  of  To-day 

Rostand,  Hauptmann,  Sudermann, 
Pinero,  Shaw,  Phillips,  Maeterlinck 

By  PROF.  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE,  JR.,  of  Union 
College.     With  gilt  top,  $i  50  net.     (By  mail,  $1.60.) 

An  informal  discussion  of  their  principal  plays  and  of 
the  performances  of  some  of  them.  A  few  of  those  con 
sidered  are  Man  and  Superman,  Candida,  Cyrano 
de  Bergerac,  UAiglon,  The  Sunken  Bell,  Magda, 
Ulysses,  Lelty,  Ins,  and  Pel  leas  and  Melisande.  The 
volume  opens  with  a  paper  "  On  Standards  of  Criti 
cism,"  and  concludes  with  "  Our  Idea  of  Tragedy,"  and 
an  appendix  of  all  the  plays  of  each  author,  with  dates 
of  their  first  performance  or  publication. 

Bookman:  "He  writes  in  a  pleasant,  free-and-easy  way.  .  .  .  He 
accepts  things  chiefly  at  their  face  value,  but  he  describes  them  so  accu 
rately  and  agreeably  that  he  recalls  vividly  to  mind  the  plays  we  have  seen 
and  the  pleasure  we  have  found  in  them." 

New  York  Evening  Post  :  "It  is  not  often  nowadays  that  a  theatrical 
book  can  be  met  with  so  free  from  gush  and  mere  eulogy,  or  so  weighted 
by  common  sense  ...  an  excellent  chronological  appendix  and  full 
index  .  ,  .  uncommonly  useful  for  reference." 

Dial:  "  Noteworthy  example  of  literary  criticism  in  one  of  the  most  in 
teresting  of  literary  fields.  .  .  .  Provides  a  varied  menu  of  the  most 
interesting  character.  .  .  .  Prof.  Hale  establishes  confidential  relations 
with  the  reader  from  the  start.  .  .  .  Very  definite  opinions,  clearly 
reasoned  and  amply  fortified  by  example.  .  .  .  Well  worth  reading  a 
second  time." 

New  York  Tribune:  "Both  instructive  and  entertaining." 

Brooklyn  Eagle:  "A  dramatic  critic  who  is  not  just  'bulling'  himself 
with  Titanic  intellectualities,  but  who  is  a  readable  dramatic  critic.  .  .  . 
Air.  Hale  is  a  modest  and  sensible,  as  well  as  an  acute  and  sound  critic.  .  .  . 
Most  people  will  be  surprised  and  delighted  with  Mr.  Hale's  simplicity, 
perspicuity,  and  ingenuousness." 

New  York  Dramatic  Mirror:  "  Though  one  may  not  always  agree 
with  Mr.  Hale's  opinions,  yet  one  always  finds  that  he  has  something 
interesting  to  say,  and  that  he  says  it  well.  Entertaining  and  generally 
instructive  without  being  pedantic." 

The  Theatre:  "A  pleasing  lightness  of  touch.  .  .  .  Very  readable 
book." 


Henry       Holt       and      Company 

Publishers  New  York 


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